Breath Waker
by Mitspeiler
Summary: Wherein I transplant Homestuck characters into the setting of Wind Waker. On Dave Strider's birthday, John's sister is kidnapped by a horrorterror, and the two join up with a band of pirates to get her back, setting sail for adventure across an endless ocean. Can they face down the terror of the Great Sea, the dark lordling Caliborn?
1. Sea Spray

This is but one of the legends of which the people speak...

Long ago, there existed a kingdom where a golden power lay hidden.

It was a prosperous land blessed with great wealth, majestic cities, and peace.

But one day a lordling of great evil found the golden power and took it for himself...

With its strength at his command, the lordling spread darkness across the kingdom.

But then, when all Hope had died, and the hour of Doom seemed at hand...

...a young boy clothed in red appeared as if from nowhere.

Wielding the blade of evil's bane, he sealed the dark one away and gave the land light.

This boy, who traveled through time to save the land, was known as the Knight of Time.

The boy's tale was passed down through generations until it became legend.

But then, a day came when a fell wind began to blow across the kingdom.

The great evil that all thought had been forever sealed away by the hero once again crept forth from the depths of the earth, eager to resume its dark designs.

The people believed that the Knight of Time would again come to save them.

...But the Knight did not appear.

Faced by an onslaught of evil, the people could do nothing but appeal to the gods.

In their last hour, as doom drew nigh, they left their future in the hands of fate.

What became of that kingdom...?

None remain who know.

The memory of the kingdom vanished, but its legend survived on the wind's breath.

On a certain island, it became customary to garb boys in red when they came of age.

Clothed in the red of rust and blood, they aspired to find heroic blades and cast down evil.

The elders wished only for the youths to know courage like the hero of legend...

* * *

"John. John, wake up. John this is embarrassing. John, don't make me slap you!" John Egbert persisted in sleeping.

Jade wondered how it was that her brother could just take a nap on such a frigid day in December with no protection against the cold but his standard blue outfit. Blue shirt with a wavy pattern, a long blue hood, orange pants and sandals; not cold weather gear by any stretch of the imagination. Furthermore, they were out on the observation deck, a wooden tower some three stories tall about sixty yards out into the water. The pounding of the waves made the fragile structure shake, and the breeze brought salty spray with it. Seagulls made their nest in the thatching, and the feathery assholes seemed to hate Jade. Well before reaching the top of the ladder their cawing, keening, whatever, had become nigh unbearable to Jade's sensitive ears; the long, pointy, appendages that stuck out from her thick mane of black hair were coated with soft white downy fur, a sign of some ancient lineage or other. She thought they made her look like a dog.

The building was loud, unstable, and as close to freezing as anything ever got this far south, yet here was John, napping as soundly as if he were some wealthy Windfall merchant in his plush four-poster who'd just counted all his rupees and hadn't found anything smaller than a purple. Jade wrapped her shawl tight against a sudden gust that was cold enough to make her gasp. A little drool dribbled out of her brother's mouth. It was almost cute. She slapped him.

"Ow! God! Why?!" He screamed, jumping to his feet and rubbing his face.

Jade picked up his glasses and handed them to him with a smile. "John! Don't you know what day it is?"

"Tuesday," he said, snapping his fingers. He wasn't going to miss a beat this time.

Jade laughed at him. "It's Dave's birthday you fuckass!"

"Well that goes without saying," John retorted, his equally canid ears lying flat on his scalp. "I thought you were playing some mind-game. Anyway, 'fuckass'? Have you been hanging out with the mailman again? And of course I know that it's Dave's birthday. Look what I got him," he said, producing a polished brass telescope with a flourish. He was very proud of his sleight-of-hand, and to his credit Jade couldn't see how he could possibly have hidden it.

"Your old telescope?" She asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"I completely refurbished it," he said proudly. "Here, take a look."

She took it in her hands, tentatively, trying to keep as much of the cold out as possible. She hefted it, admired the craftsmanship, and finally held it up to a shining green eye, turning to look out over the island.

Outset Island was a lump of stone rising from the ocean floor that had been split in two after untold centuries of wind and tide. The western side was the bigger and the majority of the village, with its charming wood-framed wattle-and-daub houses and distinct peaked thatched roofs, was situated there along the single stretch of beach at the foot of the mountain. At least, they called it a mountain; it was barely a plateau to be honest. The summit however was thickly forested and, according to some, swarming with fairies, and possibly monsters.

A rope bridge connected it to the eastern pinnacle, the only one that could actually be climbed. The rocky trails leading up to it were half-wild though, thick with wild pigs, and thus the bridge was poorly maintained and the forest poorly explored. Jade longed to go up there someday. She would brave any number of boars and the half-rotten bridge to catch herself a fairy. Then she'd make a wish to be as far from their boring little island as possible.

And suddenly her view was obstructed by an enormous blue eye and she shrieked, almost dropping the telescope. John laughed at his own stupid prank and she smacked him again, though now that he was standing she had to reach up to do it. It wasn't any fair; they were twins, but he was growing so much faster than she was. Well, he did have the benefit of training under Dave's Bro, the town's blacksmith and one-man-army.

He cocked his ear westward and turned. "Hey, Karkat's freaking out about something," he said, pointing to their home. The postman, a surly troll with nubby horns the color of candy-corn and a pair of bloodred moth's wings, was indeed freaking out over something, gaping at the sky. Jade turned the telescope upwards just as John muttered an expletive and rushed for the ladder. Jade nearly dropped it again when she saw what was in the sky.

* * *

It was Dave Strider's thirteenth birthday, and like with every birthday before, he felt pretty 'meh' about it. There was no use, really, in celebrating birthdays. It's not like you'd accomplished anything worth all the attention you get on your birthday, it's just a thing that happens. Maybe it was meant to be a consolation for having been pulled into life from wherever it is spirits come from. At least you got presents.

Before dawn, Bro had woken him up and forced Dave into a sparring session. He was sure that if anyone had been awake at the time, they would have found it glorious; not to toot his own horn or anything but Dave's swordsmanship was the subject of songs and ballads (that he had composed himself for ironic enjoyment). Dave had lost anyway, of course; he'd never be able to beat his brother. The man is simply the best there is. After that, the two had gone out in a canoe to catch breakfast. In olden days, a boy's coming of age ceremony had been marked by harpooning a gyorg, a monstrous shark with a stone ram for its face built for smashing canoes, to make a feast for the whole village. They'd had to settle for a middling-sized sunfish for themselves.

Wiping his mouth, Bro had said, without making much of a fuss out of it, just cool and relaxed as he always was, "hey, here's your present," and stabbed a sword into the table up to the hilt.

Dave whistled. "Shit you almost scared me that time. Not quite though." His voice was a lazy drawl, rarely changing cadence as if unpunctuated. He pulled it out of the table, taking care to make the action appear effortless. It was a broadsword with a circular crossguard and a long hilt, to switch easily from one to two-handed stances. The steel was shiny and newly forged; Dave could see his face in it. Thick, frost white hair, blood-red eyes, mouth that betrayed no expression.

He didn't thank his brother, but he didn't have to. No one reads an introvert's emotions better than an introvert.

It was a cold, grey day, and the stiff breeze carried a salty sting in from the ever present ocean. He took a moment to look at it. The world seemed to go on forever. Though he'd never admit it to anybody, it frightened him a little. He and his brother had come from the north back when Dave was just a baby, and his brother loved to tell self-aggrandizing tales about their crossing. The world was full of strange, terrible, wonderful things.

And he would have no part of it.

Turning from the ocean, he headed over to the Egbert house. The oldest woman on the island, Nana Egbert, was John and Jade's grandmother and sole provider. She would also be providing Dave with his ceremonial cloths. She met him at the door; the old woman had a youthful smile. "Hello Dave!" she said cheerfully before ushering him inside.

The Egbert house was small and comfortable, like most of the houses on the island. The key difference from Dave's own house is that it was decorated with family pictographs, cook books, and potted plants, rather than bristling with weapons and puppets. "At long last, you have become a young man," she said, presenting him with a bundle of clothing.

Dave looked at it. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all!" She didn't leave. It became clear that she intended to watch him change. He didn't sigh, but he wanted to.

As he worked his way into the Knight's garb, Nana continued speaking. "Once upon a time, it was customary for young boys to take up a sword to defeat their enemies. Well, now we're a peace-loving people and our swords were long since beaten into ploughshares, and even they had rusted away to nothing by the time my own Nana was a little girl. Only the family shield on the wall of every home," here she indicate the ancient ironwood shield, reinforced with a metal frame and decorated with red and silver enamel, with the little shrine of flowers and pictographs underneath, "serves as a reminder of our martial past—"

She had finally noticed that Dave was now fully dressed and had belted on his new sword. The old woman looked at him appraisingly. "Is there a problem?" He asked, with just a touch of hesitancy.

The old woman laughed. "Hoo hoo, no child! Dark times have come before and may come again. It's good to be prepared." She took a moment to study him. The Knight's clothing consisted of a long maroon cape with a hood, a red shirt bearing some symbol that might have been a stylized sun, heavy black boots, serviceable red trousers, and sword-belt with a seashell buckle. "Oh, you look so handsome!" She said. "Let me get the pictobox. You know, you are practically family, Dave."

Dave was simply glad that he hadn't been born in spring like John. Come John's next birthday, he'd have to wear a completely identical outfit, but in the subtropical heat. As for now, Dave felt quite comfortable. "Remember to come over tonight," Nana continued, "I'm making your favorite red velvet cake—"

"SWEET MERCIFUL SUFFERING FUCK!" The mailman's voice rang loud and clear through the thick walls. Nana gave Dave a look, as if to warn him against imitating such language. He gave her a look as if to say yes ma'am, and the two headed outside to investigate. "Really Karkat, there is no need to ever resort to such—" To her credit, she did not partake in foul language when she saw the horrorterror screaming across the sky, but she did fall silent.

* * *

John ran back towards his house as quickly as he could, with Jade following after, still holding the telescope. He kept his eyes on the unnatural thing flying over the island; its deep green body looked almost human, but from the midsection down it split off into two long, reptilian tails that swished and flowed against each other as it flew, creating strange swirling patterns. Its head was like that of a rooster, with a pearly white mane and brilliant crest, though its face and beak was obscured by a pale green mask of some kind, engraved with serpents. And in its disturbingly human hand, the creature was holding something. "It's a girl!" Jade shouted.

"The monster?" John asked.

She smacked him. "No! It's holding a girl!" At that moment, something came whistling across the sky and struck the beast with a satisfying thwack across the face. The monster let out a shrieking sound like a man screaming in rage filtered through the sound of a rooster's crow, amplified until it was too painful to listen to and the twins covered their ears. It dropped its burden and turned, only to be struck in the face again. The projectile, a boulder, landed on the path in front of their house with a thud that the children felt as well as heard.

Out at sea, a great black form crept ever closer to shore, and hurled another boulder. "What the hell is that?" John asked.

"A ship, looks like," the sudden intonation of the deep, calm voice startled John. He turned to see his master in the metallurgic arts, Dave's brother. He was very tall and not particularly muscular for a blacksmith, which is to say that he was still probably the strongest man on the island. His frost-white hair stuck out at exciting angles from underneath a flatcap, and his eyes were obscured by pointy sunglasses.

"I knew that," John muttered. Bro cleared his throat. "I knew that, sensei."

"That's a pirate ship," he continued in his usual soothing monotone.

Excitedly, Jade asked, "How can you tell?"

"I'm seen it before. Look at the figurehead," he pointed. The prow and stem of the ship seemed to have been taken over by a writhing black mass, like a monstrous squid with a hundred thorny vines for tentacles. "That right there, is _the_ _Grimdark_."

* * *

Vriska Serket's hair cascaded in the wind and she took a moment to enjoy it before seizing the wheel. In her old red boots and fine blue overcoat, newly looted from a Labrynnian freighter, paired with her fearsome fanged grin and the wicked glint in her remaining eye, she looked every bit the pirate captain.

"Rotating catapult five degrees," cried artillerist Jake English from amidships. "Should I load up another shot First Mate Serket?"

Damn, that irked her. "Oh, you can just call me captain for now," she said sweetly. "When we get Rose back, then I'll be First Mate again. Savvy?"

He laughed. "Very droll madam!" Then lifted a boulder onto the arm of the catapult.

She growled. "Mr. Slick," Vriska shouted over her shoulder, "Mr. English needs a keelhauling!"

"Spades Slick is taking a nap belowdecks, and left me with instructions to wake him should 'any chump need stabbing'. Now, please stop trying to subvert Rose's authority, Vriska dear," said Aranea. Other than wearing her hair much shorter than Vriska's, Aranea Serket was essentially the same in appearance; same height, same build, same grey skin, flushing slightly blue from the stinging salt on the frigid breeze, same mismatched horns resembling a stylized stinger and claw, and before Vriska's first arrest they'd had the same left eye. Of course, the two couldn't be farther in personality. Where Vriska was ambitious, manipulative and violent, Aranea was humble, cooperative, and generally peaceful.

Generally. They wouldn't let a real pacifist on a pirate crew, of course. When Vriska had been arrested on Windfall, Aranea had broken in, murdered the guards, and burned down half the prison to rescue her…sister. Trolls didn't really have siblings, per se, but the Serkets had adopted the human term. Anyway, it had been too late to save Vriska's wings from getting clipped, and they'd blinded her wonderful left eye with its seven pupils. It was a very wretched pair of trolls who were first taken aboard _the Grimdark_ and thrown upon Rose's mercy.

"I'm not trying to subvert any such thing," said Vriska. "Aren't you supposed to be researching this monster?"

Aranea gave her a look. "I am an _empath_, I know how you're feeling at any given moment. And so are you, so stop playing games with me. The only reason you didn't mutiny as soon as that thing snatched her up is because the rest of the crew is loyal to her. You're trying to shift Jake's allegiance. And as to the research," she brandished a heavy red volume, "I already did it," Aranea said, proudly. She set the book on the wheel and showed Vriska the entry she'd found, accompanied by a rather detailed illustration. "You'll notice it's missing its mask. I'm unsure as to the significance." Reading aloud, she said, "Abraxas is a prehistoric deity of tremendous power. Believed to be half-diabolic and half-divine, ancient cultures perceived it as being beyond good and evil altogether and worshiped it as the god of cosmic balance. It is mentioned in _the_ _Hylian Edda_ in line 390 of book six; 'In his house below the sea / Dread Abrasax' _sic, _'lies dreaming'—"

"If you would kindly tell me how to kill it," Vriska interrupted with a blasé attitude.

"Er," said Aranea, fiddling with her dress collar, "did you not hear the part where it's a god?"

Vriska blew a raspberry. "English! Fire that damn thing already!"

He squinted his green eyes. "Still calculating distance madam First—"

"Just do it!" Vriska roared. He did it. The stone flew true and struck the beast full in the face. Stunned, it dropped Rose onto the mountaintop below and turned to face _the Grimdark_, unleashing its obscene shriek.

"Oh dear," said Jake.

Irritated, Vriska bellowed, "What now!?"

Hand on mouth, Aranea said "He's clearly upset that our captain has fallen to her certain death!"

"Actually, Ms. Serket," he said, with a nervous smile, "The distance Rose fell is quite survivable, especially since she appears to be in a prone position and therefore a relaxed state. I'm more concerned by the fact that the monster's flight appears to be completely unaffected by windspeed."

Vriska squinted. "Huh?"

"If we try to run now," he explained, "we'll not be able to escape."

Vriska sneered. "Who said anything about running?" Drawing her cutlass, a heavy blade of blued steel with a wicked notch near the end, she said, "Everyone to battle-stations! Aranea, wake up Slick and tell him to get his murderin' hat on!" The crew let out a loud cheer. As Aranea turned to leave, Vriska whispered, "and once you've done that, kip on over to that island and see if the captain's still alive."

Stunned, Aranea looked at her sister. "You don't think you can beat it, do you?" Vriska's face betrayed no expression other than confident determination, but Aranea could already tell it was true.

Nonetheless, Vriska laughed jovially and said, "Remember, I've got all the luck," and with just a little sting of telepathy, convinced Aranea to leave. Immediately.

* * *

"Hey y'all notice the flying horrorterror getting into a shouting match with a pirate ship," Dave asked as he joined his brother and best friends on the beach. "It's pretty cool so far. Taking bets?"

"Dave," Bro said, sounding grim. "The monster dropped what he was carrying. A girl."

He whistled. "Damn. Sure sucks to be her. Where'd she land so we can go bury her corpse—"

"She probably survived," Bro interrupted. "She landed in the fairy forest. I want you to go find her."

Dave mouthed an expletive. "Don't be such a girl," Bro warned. "It's tradition. You're supposed to get the Knight's clothes and a sword so you can go out and prove you're a man now. There's no point in just blindly following tradition without understanding the purpose behind it."

Dave groaned. "Damn why'd this broad have to get kidnapped on my birthday?"

Bro smirked. "I was gonna make you do something stupid and reckless anyway. This way it at least has a purpose other than being badass. Now draw your sword."

Dave complied and it slid free with a satisfying _*snikt*_. Bro snatched it out of his hands. "Kneel." Dave did so. Bro held the sword over his head. "Do you vow to protect the weak and defenseless?"

Dave looked up. "Bro, what are—?"

Bro kicked sand into his brother's face. Dave spat and coughed, and bit back a curse.

"Do you vow?" Bro repeated.

"Yes okay?" Dave snapped.

"Will you be without fear in the face of your enemies?" He continued.

"No, seriously, what—?" Bro kicked more sand into his face and his friends laughed. "Yes!"

"Will you be brave and upright so that the Goddesses may love thee?" His voice was changing, becoming regal and commanding instead of its usual low, uncaring tone.

Stunned at the change, Dave breathed out a "yes."

"Will you safeguard the helpless and do no wrong?" He intoned.

Quietly, Dave answered, "yes."

"That is your oath," said Bro, tapping both of Dave's shoulders with the blade. Helping him to his feet, he suddenly slapped Dave across the face. "And that's so you remember it," he said, voice returning to normal. "Go rescue that girl and be back by lunch." Dave ran off toward the eastern pinnacle, and was that a new spring in his step? Was his bearing just a bit more noble?

"I want to go with him, sensei," John said. Bro studied him over his sunglasses, amber eyes penetrating into blue. John looked down.

"You're not old enough to carry a sword," he said, and John's ears drooped. "Even if you were, you couldn't swing one to save your life. Probably the worst fencer I've ever taught. You'll make a great smith though, when you're old enough to build some real muscle." Bro produced a stout hammer with a twenty pound head and tossed it towards him. "Here, go on; make sure he doesn't get killed."

Grinning fiercely, white ears perking completely upright, John ran after his friend. Bro turned to go home, and saw Jade striding along the beach with a harpoon taller than she was leaning against her shoulder. "Where are you off to?" He asked.

"East," she said nonchalantly. Her ears were at a neutral angle and betrayed nothing. "I'm gonna hunt some wild pigs."

"You're _not_ going to help Dave and your bother?" He said, hand on his chin.

Jade shook her head. "You know how Dave likes pork. We're having the dinner at our house, so I should provide the main course. Naturally."

"Naturally," said Bro, unconvinced. "I know I can't control you. Go help them, if you want."

She shrugged. Then she took off running.

Author's note: Nobody voted, so I'ma do both. Haha. Wind Waker is my favorite Zelda game. Evar! I love it so much it makes me want to cry T_T. I once got into a knife-fight with a dude who sent an overly critical letter to Nintendo Power. In my mind.

It's not without its flaws though. Don't get me wrong, anyone who dislikes it is either a liar or a communist, but it's too damn short and there's that long ass bit at the end with no proper dungeons. They could have thrown in a few, right? The ghost ship was a total missed opportunity! I'll try to 'fix' this, make it into something more readable. Bear in mind there will be significant differences from canon, especially in the late-game. The addition of party members for one.

I'm hoping that people who are just fans of Zelda will read this and become interested in Homestuck, and we can't have them going in thinking that the lovely Misses Serket are generic fantasy trolls.


	2. Upwelling

Atop the eastern pinnacle was a small triangular meadow an acre wide, broken only by a single tree and a few boulders of glassy black volcanic rock. Tiny winter flowers were in bloom, bringing splashes of blue and red to the prickly brown grass. The ground underneath was rich and black; the famously fertile black soil of Outset had probably been treated by some ancient culture, judging from the abundance of charcoal and old rupees one could find so easily in it. "Best view on the island," said Dave as the group stopped to catch their breath. He and Jade stood side-by-side almost on the precipice, looking out across the waters. The choppy waves of the Great Sea spread out below them like an endless sheet of beaten iron, its thousand-thousand islands mere blips of black on the horizon. The clouds above, unbroken by the slightest sunbeam or streak of blue, were like a perfect dome of silver.

"You've never been up here," Jade accused, ruining the moment. "The path was completely overgrown! You were cutting down saplings taller than I was!"

"Sure have," Dave countered, arms folded across his chest. "It's just that I always climb up here. Hop from rock to rock like a majestic mountain goat. But I knew you guys couldn't manage it so we took the path."

"I could so have made the climb," said Jade, stamping her foot.

"No you couldn't have," said John, making his presence known from his vantage atop one of the boulders. Jade sometimes forgot that his hearing was as good as hers was.

"No, I couldn't have," she admitted.

"Besides," Dave continued as if she hadn't said anything at all, "most things are taller than you are."

"I'm going to push you off the cliff into the ocean," she said sweetly. "John will back me up. No one will ever know."

John was looking in the other direction, as he always did when his sister and best friend were black-flirting. This time however, it wasn't from third-wheel discomfort. Instead, through his telescope he was watching _the Grimdark_ in its battle against the monster. It was too close for them to rely on the catapult anymore; they had produced a few light cannon and were pelting the thing with grapeshot. The monster, however, was too fast for them and deftly avoided their attacks. When it got too close however, they would just loose a barrage of arrows, clearly too weak to kill it, but painful enough to make the thing back off. But they'd run out of arrows eventually. "We should go, guys," he called, ears lying back warily. "Both of them want that girl, and we should protect her as well as we can." He jumped down to the ground and walked to them determinedly.

"What if she's with the pirates?" Jade asked. "It could happen!"

John gave her an unamused look. "Jade, that is silly. She's clearly in danger from both of them. Why would we even think anything else ever?" Turning to Dave; "before I forget," he said, handing Dave the telescope, "happy birthday!"

Dave whistled. "One of your treasured heirlooms? Don't I feel special." He put it up to his eye. "What were you looking at just now? Oh," he said, spying the monster locked in combat with the pirates. "You're right, we should go."

"Wait," said Jade, fishing for something in her bag. "Here's my present," she said, handing it over. A pair of silver-framed, horn-rimmed sunglasses. "I traded Beedle all my sea-shells for it," she said proudly.

"That's a lot of fucking sea-shells," John said, helpfully.

"Apparently they belonged to the hero Ben Stiller," Jade said. "I'm not sure I believe him, but they're still really cool! …Right?" They both looked at Dave expectantly.

Without further ado, he flipped the shades onto his face, where some stray beam of light struck the left lens with an almost audible gleam.

"Soooo cool," Jade giggled.

"Wait, they might have touched that guy's weird, kinda gaunt face?" asked John. "You didn't tell me that!"

Dave strode back towards the path. "They're so cool I'll never take them off. Even to sleep." He didn't thank his friends. He didn't have to; they both knew he was a big soft ball of fluff on the inside.

* * *

The bridge was a simple one made of ancient driftwood and chains that seemed to have once been very fine, until countless years of ocean spray had rusted them into a creaky horror-show that left a bloody colored mess on the children's hands as they walked across. Hundreds of feet high, buffeted by high wind, it spanned the narrowest point between the two halves of the island. Far below, a mass of jagged rocks stretch upwards like reaching fingers. At low tide, it became an expanse of ever-changing tide-pools that you could walk across with ease and explore at leisure. Now, it was like the swirling maw of Charybdis. They crossed without incident.

It was quiet in the fairy forest, and surprisingly warm, with a shelf of rock all around keeping out the wind. No one had ever come here to harvest wood, so the ground was thick with growth and ancient trees that had toppled on their own. The canopy was so thickly interwoven that the sky was almost hidden, and the place was suffused with a shadowless, pale green light. It was a sleepy sort of place, a place where things never really happened. Until now. "Not even one wild pig," Jade mumbled. "I thought rescuing maidens would be more exciting."

Dave clicked his tongue. "I almost prefer it this way. Just don't tell Bro how boring this was or he'll make me go out and fight a gyorg with a knife in my teeth or something."

"Shit," said John, "I'd like to see that!" And so, he led his friends into the woods. They talked and joked like this for over an hour, occasionally calling out. "Hey! Girl! We're here to save you or whatever," Dave shouted, without enthusiasm.

"We're friendly!" Jade shouted through cupped hands, awkwardly shouldering her harpoon. "We have cake! Well, we will tonight! Hey, wanna come over for dinner?! I'll set you up with John!"

John jumped. "What?" he snapped, ears lying back in hostility.

Hands on her hips, Jade said, with a playful sneer, "The only girl your age on the island is me John! How else are we gonna get you married off? We'd have to send away for some city girl who'd sneer down her nose at us poor inbred country-folk even though she was probably giving it away on the street corner the week before—"

"Okay, you can no longer hang out with Karkat," John said, pointing. "It's forbidden! I forbid you!"

Ignoring him, Jade continued with a look of self-satisfaction, "—and now a girl falls out of the sky, practically right in your lap! It's destiny John—"

He snatched her glasses and ran off, laughing. Jade brandished her harpoon threateningly and charged after him. "Glass is expensive you fuckass!" Dave sighed and walked in her wake, muttering about energetic people.

"You keep using that word," John shouted over his shoulder. "I do not think it means what you think it mea—"

He smacked into something hard and fleshy and fell on his ass. "Shit." A thick-bodied Bokoblin loomed over him, dressed in rags and tanned pigskin, a gnarled staff in his little, rat-like hand. The blue-skinned creature had the mouth of a frog but with a lower jaw that could crunch through bone, set with heavy tusks that would be the envy of any boar. Likewise it had the snout of a pig and ears like a bat's, and a single horn on its spotty forehead unlike any other animal. He opened his mouth and licked his snout with a tongue of the most vibrant magenta, and made a sound from deep in the back of his throat like a crow mating with a toad, hefted his stick—

And promptly dropped it because of the six-foot harpoon now embedded in his shoulder. Dave ran in, almost too quick to be seen, and launched the Bokoblin into the air with a hefty stroke of his sword. It landed a few feet away, leaking luminescent pink, and twitched wildly until it suddenly stopped. "Still wishing for wild pigs, Jade?" Dave asked.

Wordlessly, John's sister approached him and held out her hand. He took it. "No, I want my glasses!"

"Help me up first!" While the two squabbled, Dave went over to the monster and pulled out the harpoon. As he did so, its vest opened up, revealing an exquisite necklace shaped like a butterfly. Dave clicked his tongue, and slipped it into his pocket. The Bokoblin wouldn't need it anymore.

"—I'm farsighted," said Jade.

"No, you thought he was me," said John.

"I see the girl," said Dave, pointing up into the canopy. The siblings turned to gawk.

Hanging from a branch by her bright pink sash, she appeared to have passed out. At first John thought he was looking at a ghost. Her short hair was as white as bone, and stood in stark contrast to her skin, which had been completely and carefully covered by war-paint so dark a grey it was nearly black. Her dress was a simple, heavy black gown, with something that may have been either a scowling skull or a heavily stylized sea-monster sewn onto the front. The only color on her was the sash, in which were sheathed a pair of daggers with skulls for pommels.

"Jade," said Dave, "poke her with your harpoon, see if you can't get her down."

"Idiot," she said, "it's like twenty feet high, I can't reach. And she'll never want to marry John if his sister perforates her. You need to think about these kinds of things." As they argued, John's ears twitched, detecting a vaguely rhythmic sound. No, it was two sounds coming from opposite directions. Footsteps? He could see the rock walls on either side of the wood, so probably not. Also, they were too far and coming from—

Wing-beats, muffled by the thick canopy. There was a cry like a tortured goat, and a pair of kargarocs dropped through it, suddenly audible, carrying a pair of Bokoblins nearly identical to the first. They were like enormous vultures, but endowed with fabulous colors; deep blue bodies, white-tipped wings, maroon heads and necks, feathered unlike their smaller cousins, and their legendary tails, long like a mammal's and covered in green and gold quills. One of them directed its hateful, intelligent gaze at John and bellowed, a stuttering, mammalian sound, and then both of them dropped their cargoes and flew off into the sky.

"We should use some kind of unison attack," said John, as the Bokoblins advanced, machetes drawn.

"You mean rush them all at once?" asked Dave. "I like it."

Jade laughed. "He means, like, you throw me up into the air and he jumps up and smacks me with his hammer and somehow I'm not hurt and I hurdle at the enemy like a cannonball, then I throw my harpoon in midair in slow motion and it breaks the sound barrier and shatters rocks and burns down the whole forest! And then they get back up because it only does five damage each."

"John," said Dave, taking on a paternal air, "You're not allowed to play those role-playing games anymore. They rot your brain."

"Fuck you guys," said John, flushing, "Let's just rush them!" And he charged at the nearest Bokoblin. It grunted in surprise, presumably used to having boys John's age be terrified of him, and just barely managed to bring up its machete as John brought the hammer down.

The next swing dented the blade. The third swing pushed back the Bokoblin, and it was a testament to its strength that it didn't drop the weapon from the furious ringing that must have been be working its way up its arm. It was a testament to John's strength that he swung a twenty pound hammer one-handed four times in such quick succession that his opponent could do nothing but hold. The fourth blow snapped the machete in two, and the Bokoblin jumped back at the last second, narrowly avoiding a similar fate. John, having overextended himself, just barely managed to turn as it lunged at his face with an open-handed blow, leaving three deep furrows in his cheek.

The monster's momentum kept it going, and John raised his knee into its stomach, bending the creature over his leg. With both hands, John swung the hammer at its back, and left it dead with a sickening crunch. He wiped away the blood with his sleeve and turned just in time to see Dave and Jade pin their Bokoblin to the ground with a simultaneous strike of their weapons. It shrieked, then coughed out a gob of its magenta lifeblood, and lay still.

Dave looked over at John. "Damn, it's Egbert the Barbarian breaking fools over his knee like he was their goddamn daddy! Trying to make up for screwing up the first one huh? Well it worked." He flicked something at John with a crystalline chime and he snatched it out of the air without thinking. A red rupee of surprising purity, quartz crystals carved into hexagons about the size of a thumb. "Money?"

"Your share of the spoils bro." Dave announced.

"You're looting the corpses?" John asked with a lopsided grin. "Who's been playing too many RPGs?"

"You don't want it? Then just give it here," Dave said, holding out his hand. John put the rupee away. The sound of wood groaning, then splintering, tortured his sensitive ears, and Jade shouted, "Hurry John she's falling! Catch her or she'll die!" Without a word John dropped his hammer and ran toward the tree, just managing to catch the falling girl.

From up close, she wasn't really that bad looking. She had a delicate, aristocratic face, long curly eyelashes, nice full lips, and, John noticed with a start, long furry ears like he and Jade and Nana did. He'd thought they were the only ones. Her eyes fluttered open and he almost made a fool of himself by gasping at the brilliant lilac color but caught hims—

"Drop me at once," she said, holding, holding a thick black needle under John's chin; a dribble of blood slid down it to the skull-shaped pommel. Huh. Guess it wasn't a dagger after all. "Or I will slide this up through your soft pallet and into your brain. Then I will unleash a burst of magical energy that will likely leave you headless and my dress quite ruined."

John dropped her unceremoniously. "No way to treat your rescuers," he said, stepping back to a safe distance.

She stood up and looked around, needle held between her fingers like a pencil. The girl was the same height as John, with a slender build and a commanding presence. Her expression was curious, but not surprised. She projected an air of eminence, as if she had more of a right to be here in the fairy forest than did these children who'd lived near it their entire lives. It was not arrogance, John decided, but something more like the supposed divine right of kings. If there had still been kings.

"I suppose you'll want a reward," she said, looking at his friends as if just noticing them. "Very well, we won't raze your village to its foundations." There was a stunned silence as it became apparent to the group that they may have miscalculated some things.

Then Jade laughed. She would treat with kings, if there were still kings, based only on how well she liked them. "See you guys? She really is a pirate!" She strode forward and proffered her hand with a big grin. "I'm Jade Egbert! This is my brother John and our friend Dave Strider. What's your name, Ms. Pirate?"

Hesitantly, she said, "Captain Rose Lalonde, of _the Grimdark_," and took Jade's hand, allowing the other girl to shake. The two made an interesting pair, almost a complete inversion. "And that was just a joke. I wouldn't destroy such a small village, but one does have a reputation to maintain," she said with a very small smile. "I need to at least threaten."

Jade turned to John and winked. 'She's a captain John! We're moving up in the world."

"A pirate with a snarky sense of humor," said Dave, "my life is now complete."

"I am still a pirate, Mr. Strider," said Rose, warningly, "and will not hesitate to decapitate you." Turning to John, she said, "Mr. Egbert, I trust you are not seriously injured?"

John rubbed his chin. He was no longer bleeding. "Good," said Rose, "Now how do we leave?"

* * *

Just as John, in the lead, set foot on the bridge, a pretty troll with blue wings swept down from the sky and landed behind him. "Captain," said Aranea, kneeling, "Abraxas has tired from fighting."

"Excellent," said Rose. "We shall pursue the beast, and I will slay him, and place his mask on the mainmast for all to see that even the gods must fear_ the Grimdark_." Jade turned to John and mouthed 'badass', with a look of pure exuberance.

Aranea jumped to her feet and shook her head violently. "You don't understand Captain! He's not fatigued, he's bored. He lost interest in us and he's heading—" She turned northward; the ship was visible, close enough to see the monstrous figurehead that took up most of her prow, but the green and white abomination was nowhere to be seen. "Oh sweet Nayru where is he?!" Aranea shouted.

Abraxas' horrid crowing sounded from somewhere entirely too close. John turned and found himself staring into the monster's burning yellow eyes, each bigger than his head. Dave immediately leapt into action, lunging for his left eye with his sword, and was immediately slapped away, smacking into the stony cliff with a loud *thwack*. With that same green hand, gnarled and scarred, with ragged green claws, he reached for Rose, who already had both needles drawn and crackling with magical energy—

Only to be shoved aside by Jade. Those enormous green fingers closed tightly around her, and with its free hand the monster launched itself into the sky, the force of his departure shattering the bridge chains and sending John plummeting to his doom. He briefly thought the last thing he would ever hear was the wind whistling in his ears, carrying his sister's voice as she called for him.

He was wrong. He looked up, and saw Rose the pirate Captain gripping his had with a look of grim determination on her face. "By Din you weigh a ton," she shouted through clenched teeth, "but I am not going to let you go." And then there was a sense of shifting and a hideous crack like a bomb going off in a glass house, and the ground Rose was laying on slid forward and flipped them both out into the open air.

* * *

Falling to his certain death for the second time today, Rose still clinging to his hand, he felt his ears twitch to one side as they filled with yet another unknown noise, an almost liquid sound cutting through the air. He noticed Rose's ears doing the same, and for the first time in his life noticed the oddness of that jerking motion applied to a human being; it was like they had a mind of their own. Some of her makeup had rubbed off around her jaw, and he saw that her natural skin color was a nearly translucent white. Her eyes were wide with terror, filled to the brim with that alien color, and John thought it a treat, to have seen what no one else had likely ever seen; the dread pirate Rose Lalonde without her queenly mask.

All of this happened in an instant, the space of time it takes to jump. Then something hard took John in the side and he saw Rose's head jerk hard against—

The mailman's chest. "Are you an angel," John muttered, half-joking. The sound had been Karkat, gliding through the air on his silent moth-wings as quickly as he possibly could. He now held both children, one in each arm, and looked upwards stoically. As he reached the peak of his flight, he extended his brilliant red wings and began to descend in a lazy spiral. "Yes Egbert, I'm an angel. Now stay in school and eat your vegetables or I'll fucking drop you."

* * *

Author's Note: My fics all have recurring motifs. The Thief of Prospit's motif is color, despite being inspired by a black and white film. Trollish Layer's motif is thought, despite not being about any damn thing. None of these were conscious decisions, it just sort of happened, and it doesn't mean anything. The motif for this fic appears to be Princess Bride quotes. See?

In my headcanons, Jade is actually the tallest of the original kids. I made her more petite in this story for some reason, maybe to match up with Aryll more.

Abraxas' design is based on actual Gnostic images of worship I found. And why shouldn't he look different from the browser logo? Echidna looks nothing like hers. That said, his behavior at the end there was lifted right off the Songbird from Bioshock Infinite. Now there's an idea; Biostuck Infinite Double-Reacharound. So boss.

And John's RPGs are of course pen-and-paper ones. Of course.


	3. Riding the Breeze

In the village center, Nana and Bro were busily interrogating Rose, who was already taking command of the situation. She'd sent Aranea off to _the Grimdark_ to organize a landing party, and then come back and get Dave down from the cliff. John did not have time to waste on their bullshit however, and had slunk off toward the beach. Karkat found him at the dock.

"Look, John," Karkat said, grabbing hold of his shoulder, "there's nothing you can do—"

"Sure there is!" he shouted, breaking free of the mailman's grasp. "I'm going to paddle this fucking canoe out and follow them!" John shoved the dainty blue and purple Outset canoe into the water, where it was promptly capsized by an incoming wave. He screamed and threw a rock at it, cracking the hull. "Cheap piece of shit!"

Karkat slapped his forehead. "First off, if the stupid thing couldn't survive you, how the Hell is it going to survive the Great Sea? Second, how the Hell are you going to catch up to something that flies _by paddling_? Third, do you even know where they went? They are long gone! Fourth, if by some miracle you managed to paddle a canoe across the entire Great Sea and somehow managed to find that thing, HOW IN THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING TO GET JADE BACK FROM IT? ARE YOU GOING TO KILL IT WITH YOUR FUCKING PURE HEART?"

Aranea alit behind him, carrying Dave. "Oh, Karkat! Hello," she said.

Surprised, he greeted her confusedly. "Hey. Still alive I see."

"You two know each other?" Dave asked.

"Why are you surprised to see that she's alive?" John asked, temporarily distracted from the tragic sinking of his canoe in five feet of water.

"All the trolls know each other," Karkat said with a dismissive gesture. "Dragon Roost is only a little bigger than this island. Because of that, whenever someone commits a serious crime we just outlaw them, so any outsiders can kill them with impunity, and since trolls tend to make enemies…." He made a conclusive gesture. There was an awkward silence. "Good job, by the way. On not getting murdered to death."

"Oh, you know me," she said with a coy expression, "people don't want to kill me, they just want me to shut up. I remember this one time on Great Fish Island—what's that boy doing?" John was walking into the ocean with a determined expression, already up to his chest in the frigid water and thoroughly soaked.

"GODDAMN IT JOHN!" Karkat bellowed, gliding after him and dragging him back to the shore. "YOUR GRANDMOTHER IS GOING TO CARVE MY BLOOD-PUSHER OUT WITH A RUSTY SPOON IF I LET YOU WANDER OFF AND COMMIT SUICIDE BY ANCIENT EVIL!"

"Let me go!" John shouted, struggling against the troll, "I have to do something!"

Dave, having remained silent for the entire conversation due to his probably bruised ribs and general fatigue, decided to finally intervene. He gave John a good solid smack upside the head, just like Bro would. "Man the fuck up. I mean yeah we have to do something but we should be cool and think about it first. Karkat just gave you a whole bunch of very good reasons you can't just rush off alone."

"Exactly," Karkat said, "Dave is clearly your intellectual superior and you should listen to him more often," He cracked his knuckles. "But what you should both be doing is listening to _her_. Aranea," she jumped at the sudden mention of her name, "Go get your captain," he said, pointing her in the right direction. "We're about to engage in a massive communal infodump."

With an ecstatic grin, she saluted and flew off, returning on foot within minutes with everyone else in tow. They arranged themselves in a circle around her. "From what I can gather," she began, adjusting her glasses with a smart, concise gesture, "Abraxas, the monster that we fought today, is a chthonic deity from ancient times, resurrected by means as yet unknown. He has been terrorizing the Great Sea and outlying regions for some months now, kidnapping young girls of Hylian lineage—"

"That means people with the furry ear-dealies for all you rubes," said Karkat, holding his fingers up to his ears as if to mimic the trait.

Aranea cleared her throat. "Yes, quite. It's actually a symbol placed by the Creatrices themselves marking people as the legitimate inheritors of a semi-divine lineage rumored to have once held dominion over the whole of the Earth, but 'ear-dealies' is also an appropriate term, thank you," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Regardless, Abraxas' nest is rumored to be far to the north, in a place that has since become colloquially known as the Forsaken Fortress. This location has a rich history and is rumored to be one of the last and best preserved remnants of the old Hylian kingdo—"

"Thank you Aranea," Rose said authoritatively; she knew how the troll got when she had a subject. "Essentially, the fortress is an ancient castle on a rock that was once home to a rather infamous gang of privateers known as the Felt Mob, mercenaries employed by the last duke of Windfall. For all we know, they are still there, and may even be the ones controlling Abraxas for all I know, but kidnapping has never been their priority." Rose seemed to be steeling herself. "The girls brought to the fortress are simply never seen again. There are no demands, and they are not disappearing in sufficient numbers for it to be slavery. I'm sorry John, but your sister is most likely dead, or as good as."

Almost without realizing it, John's hand fell to the hammer in his belt. He wanted to scream and rage like the impotent child he was, especially at Rose. If _she_ had never shown up then—

But there was no point in it. John could never bring his anger above a simmer, no matter how much he _wanted_ to. He dropped his hand from the hammer and sighed. Besides, she was as much a victim as Jade. It was the fault of that thing, Abraxas, and whoever had summoned him. The Felt Mob? Whoever it was, they would rue the day they forced their way into his life. Quietly, he said, "if she's most likely dead, then there's a small chance she's alive. I'm going." He turned to leave.

"Now here I thought you were the more mature one, but I guess I was wrong," said Dave's brother, eyes glinting dangerously over his sunglasses. "You're still just a dumb kid. Going on a quest when you have no idea of how to even get there, honestly." He rounded on Rose. "And you. You need to take some responsibility young lady."

She glared up at the man, a full head and shoulders taller than she, strong enough to snap her in two, as if she were the dangerous one. Their eyes met and John was surprised he didn't see something like a flash of light as these two titanic personalities clashed in a battle of wills.

Rose looked down first. "You are correct. Our presence in the region directly resulted in Abraxas' arrival on the island."

John interrupted. "It's really not your fault—"

"Nonetheless," she said sharply, "He was reaching for me and Jade took my place. I would be remiss in not helping you recover her." She straightened. "Pack your things, I'm taking you to the Forsaken Fortress."

'I'm going too," Dave announced, to John's surprise. Putting his hand on his shoulder, Dave said, "Don't look at me like that. You guys are my best fucking friends. Besides," he straightened his sunglasses and there was once again an uncanny gleam. "Today's heroic labor was total bullshit. I want a do-over. Maybe we'll have a unison attack."

Bro clicked his tongue and flashed a cocky grin. "It's a good thing you volunteered because I was about to send you off for those same exact reasons."

Dave cocked an eyebrow. "Bro why do you think I volunteered? I mean c'mon I do learn things."

Nana let out a pained 'hoo hoo', and said, "Now here I thought you did it because you and Jade are the cutest couple on the island."

Bro nodded with a grunt. "That's probably it. He pretends he's good with women, but that girl's the only one for him, I can tell." As Bro proceeded to tease Dave relentlessly, Nana beckoned John over.

"Come with me, John," she said, tears in her eyes, "we're going home."

John shook his head. 'Didn't you hear—?"

"I heard quite well young man, but for once will you shut your mouth and do as you're told?" Her sharp tone stunned him into silence. Recovering a trace of her warmth, she said, "we won't be long, child. Just come along." They took the brief stroll up to their house. There was a low fence to keep out the wild pigs, a garden of straight, well-tended saplings and pink flowers, and a veranda looking out over the ocean. No matter what she told him, John was determined to leave it behind today. The thought made his eyes sting.

Once inside, she headed over to the family shield, took it down, and gave it to him. "The Triforce," she said, indicating the Triangle of Triangles, "to guide you." She slid her long, pale finger toward the heraldic beast underneath, like an owl with the head of a lion and the horns of a goat. "And a demon to protect you. That's what my family always used to say about this thing. Who knows if that's what the shield-makers were thinking, but that's what it means now." She sighed a deep, hollow sigh. Her ears, already dropping with age, seemed to have lost all structural integrity and were dangling lifelessly. "I always knew this day would come, but I never imagined it would hurt so much." She hugged him. "Go and bring back our poor Jade," she muttered into his ear. "Or bear an old woman's curse your whole life long!"

John jumped. "Huh?!"

"Hoohoohoo!"

* * *

When they emerged, John carried not only the family shield strapped to his back, but also two heavy packfuls of clothing and baked goods, one for himself and one for Dave. A boat had pulled into the docks in the intervening time, releasing a striking young woman currently having a heated argument with Karkat, who was probably Aranea's 'sister', and a tall, surly looking black Carapacian, with a thick white scar marring his chitinous skin right down his right eye, and a wicked looking hook where his hand and part of his forearm should have been. He was sitting on an old looking wooden chest, enameled blue and gilded with brass. "Okay, I'm ready," John said to Rose.

"Excellent," she said. "First Mate, say goodbye to your friend and meet our other new passenger, John Egbert." The young woman gave him a vicious grin. He could help but grin back. "My First Mate is as vicious a cutthroat as you will ever find on the Great Sea," Rose warned.

"Cool," said John.

"I like him," said Vriska. "He knows what's what."

"Mr. Slick, open the chest," Rose snapped. The Carapacian rolled his eyes and did so, revealing an enormous pile of rupees of every color, stamped with the ensigns of a dozen different nations. "Your compensation for any inconvenience we may have caused," she said diplomatically.

Bro clicked his tongue. "We don't need your money—"

"But we'll take it anyway," said Nana with a bright smile. "I've always wanted a tile roof. And the bridge needs repairing, as well. And don't you think the village will look better with a paved road?"

Bro rolled his eyes. "Sweet merciful Nayru, who decided we had to be in charge around here?"

Sweetly, Nana said, "I did of course!"

Vriska sighed and looked at the treasure longingly. "Seems like such a waste to use the whole spoils from the Holodrum job on one dead-end fishing village."

"You've been to Holodrum?" John asked. "What's it like? Do the seasons really change every day?"

She made an expansive gesture with her left arm. "Gather 'round my children and I'll tell you a tale—"

"We'll have time for that later," said Rose, voice quiet but cutting. "Everyone on the boat. If we set sail now, we'll make it by tomorrow night."

Quick goodbyes were exchanged, and then John and Dave were loaded onto the boat and made to row out to _the Grimdark_. A large crowd had gathered, well, large for this island. The village was fewer than a hundred people, and John knew them all by name. He tried to press the scene into his memory, having a feeling that he wouldn't be back for a long time. Then Vriska started singing a sea shanty about a troll denied entry into the navy because of her race that was shaping up to be interesting, until Aranea elbowed her in the ribs. "Nobody wants to hear about your sexual conquests," she whispered, only loud enough for someone with Hylian ears to hear. John snickered. Rose's mouth thinned to a slit.

* * *

_The Grimdark_ was a massive ship, or so it seemed to Dave and John's eyes, which had never seen anything bigger than a war-canoe from the extreme south, the day Bro had proven his role as the island's defender beyond a shadow of a doubt. In actuality, like most ships of her kind _the Grimdark_ was smaller than average for easy mobility, but she certainly had a presence that was unmatched by even the mightiest galleons. She was made of some very dark wood, each plank a work of art carved with looping whorls that might have been roots and vines, and might have been something else entirely. Her black sails bore a pair of crossed scimitars, holding up the same symbol that was present on Rose's dress. Of course, the most impressive thing was the figurehead, the enormous monstrosity of black wood that seemed to be a single piece, a horrorterror with a thousand tentacles of writhing thorns. Up close, they could see a vaguely heart shaped face with enormous eyes that were actually lamps, and the stem of the ship was the long, pointed, squid-like head, sheathed with black iron to serve as a ram. Monstrous, but beautiful.

Once aboard, Rose made introductions. "You've already met my First Mate," said Rose, indicating Vriska, "my navigator," Aranea gave a polite wave, "and my…Spades Slick," the gruff Carapacian scowled while playing with a butterfly knife, which promptly flew out of his hand and into the ocean. "His exact purpose on the ship appears to be fighting like a madman and then disappearing when there's real work to be done." With an expansive gesture, she turned to the rest of the assembled crewmen. "The rest of them are expendable. Go about your business. I'm awfully tired," and with that she retreated belowdecks, the crewmen giving her a wide berth, almost as if in awe.

Vriska smirked. "Okay, now that Miss Bossypants has gone to get her beauty rest, I'll make some proper introductions."

John was first introduced to the artillerist, Jake English, a boy that looked surprisingly like himself, although his eyes were green and he had the oddity of bright pink fur on his Hylian ears. "I should say we look nothing alike," the boy opined. "You're fair and I'm swarthy," he said, offering his hand.

"You always talk like that?" Dave asked, shaking his hand.

"English is an ironic nickname," Vriska explained. "We found him stranded on an island last year and he didn't speak a word of it. He only spoke Ancient Hylian. Natively."

"My grandmother was trying to prepare the world for some grand revival of civilization," he explained cheerily, "and hoped to expedite the process by bringing up a generation of children who could speak the 'sacred tongue'. Of course, she only had me!"

"That's the creepiest shit ever," Dave noted.

"I taught him English," Aranea broke in. "It was a very fascinating process, teaching a modern tongue to a speaker of a dead one. He had an entire set of expressions that made no logical sense in the modern context yet he used for everyday life, such as swearing by the name of 'Zelda', a being whose identity is unknown except for key references in the _Edda _and Rauru's _Histories of_—"

Vriska covered her sister's mouth. "Long story short, he talks like an old man because he was raised to. Next person."

Nepeta Leijon was a charming young troll with a swishy blue tail and stout triangular horns that looked like another pair of ears. She was sitting in a corner stroking the head of a white cat the size of a Calatian shepherd, with two broad mouths and glowing green eyes. "Are you in charge of the ship's cat?" John asked jokingly, as he bent to pet the creature.

She shook her head. "I _am_ the ship's cat!" she said. "Pounce de Leon is head of security."

"What," Dave said.

Suddenly her tail suddenly stiffened and fluffed up, and she ran off on all fours faster than the eye could see. The cat licked its paw and smoothed out its head fur.

The boys were then hurriedly introduced to Sir Reginald-Dunsany Willoughby III and Smee, the cook. "Nak," said the esteemed gentleman. He was a one-eyed crocodile standing on his hind-legs with bright red scales.

"Word up," said Dave, raising his fist. Willoughby bumped it.

Smee said nothing, beak shut so firmly John doubted they could have pried a word out if they wanted. He shivered, his stout foreclaws clicking against his rose-pink shell. He was a tortoise, and pink as coral. "But damn," said Vriska, "can he cook. Let's meet someone else before he gets used to you and talks your ear off."

In all, the crew totaled around twenty people of all races and varying degrees of sentience. In all the commotion, the two boys barely eve noticed Outset Island disappearing over the horizon.

* * *

Author's note: "Mitspeiler, are we ever gonna get to the Forsaken Fortress or are you just gonna bog us down in existential morass and admittedly hilarious jokes?" Quiet you, I'm creating (that's a yes to both)! Next chapter, Forsaken Fortress, one way or another, and then after we clear our first dungeon (those of you who've played the game are laughing) it's off to the real adventure.

This chapter was mostly character/world building, very little plot, this segment takes like two minutes to do in the game and I somehow stretched it out into an eight page document. Word up.

Does Rose seem a bit bitchy? Good. She did grow up in this world without the calming influence of her canon friends. And Jake's ears are a reference to A Link to the Past. See y'all again real soon.


	4. Deathly Calm

Something happened to John that he would never have thought possible. He became sea-sick. It wasn't entirely unreasonable. He'd been on a canoe, of course, but never a large ship, and the two experiences are quite different, plus he was much farther out to sea than he had ever been and the weather as choppy as it had been when they set out. It was still not something he would care to admit in front of Dave and a crew of scurvy seadogs, so he quietly slipped belowdecks while Vriska regaled the crewmen with tales of her exploits. Apparently they were different every time, so it paid to listen.

The inside of the ship was not as dark as he'd have thought, as it was made of or at least paneled with much lighter colored though less interesting wood than the exterior, and candles hung in sconces at regular intervals. There was a door across from him and, just in front of it, a stairway leading further down. The ship gave a lurch and John tasted salt. He decided not to risk the stairs and went for the door, swallowing hard.

It was a comfortable little cabin, decorated with elegant furniture and hung with a variety of drawings and portraits. There was a single pictograph, a rakish looking woman in a blue mask up in a corner next to a bookshelf that had been stuffed beyond capacity; her strawberry blond hair rendered a dull brown by the sepia tone. Rose was sitting on the bed, reading a black leather-bound volume that looked very heavy. John almost didn't recognize her, because she was wearing a fuzzy orange bathrobe and had been scrubbed clean. "Wow, you're really pale," John said.

"So are you," Rose responded immediately, without even looking up. "My complexion, however, does not have any fetching undertones of green, as yours seems to. One wonders how a boy from a fishing village on a small island becomes seasick."

The ship lurched again and John felt dizzy. "I'm sorry," he said, gulping. "I'll leave." He turned on his heel and nearly fell over.

Rose sighed. "Stay a while. Have some tea to soothe your nerves. You'll feel better soon." She shut her book and gestured towards the center of the room, where a small table (bolted to the floor) carried a steaming silver teapot and matching cups. John was unsure if it had been there before, but he poured himself a cup and sat down on the small, two-seater couch opposite the bed.

The tea was very dark purple, almost black, and had a strong, fruity flavor. John thought it would taste better cold. At least it gave him something to do other than try to not throw up, and it did seem to settle his stomach a little. At least his spit wasn't salty anymore. Just above Rose's head, there was an ancient looking woodcut print depicting a young man dressed in rusty red tones, holding a sword above his head that seemed to radiate light. John said, "It looks a bit like Dave," and sipped his tea.

"Almost exactly," Rose said, nodding her head. She had yet to look up from her book. "He might be a distant relation. Perhaps."

"Is that why you let him come aboard?" John asked. The tea was starting to grow on him. "A chance to meet the hero's descendant? If that's what he is."

Rose shrugged. "It's been uncountable ages since the hero's time. For all we know everyone alive today is a descendant of his, considering how popular they say he was with the ladies. And you may as well ask why I let _you_ onboard. My feelings of magnanimity are slowly returning to their normal levels. Perhaps tonight you'll wake up at the bottom of the ocean with your throat slit and your pockets emptied."

John snickered. "You have a fantastic sense of humor."

Rose did finally look up. "Are you being sarcastic?" she asked, eyebrow raised as if in challenge.

"No, you're funny." She narrowed her eyes suspiciously and John snorted. "You have this whole fierce pirate persona, but you don't really mean it. It's great!"

"Persona," she said, voice flat and dripping with venom. John's grin only widened. She shut her book. "John, I have sunken ships and put entire garrisons to the sword. I'm feared across the Great Sea. I have the death mark in five countries. I once went ashore in disguise and heard a mother scold her children, saying they would be carried away by _the Grimdark _if they didn't start behaving, and they cried and promised to be good. I _am_ a fearsome pirate."

"You're a lot like Dave," John said. "He acts all stoic, and he is. But he plays up so much that no one can tell if he's serious or not. You take it to the next level though."

"A comparison to your best male friend?" Rose asked. "That is the absolute last thing a girl wants to hear from a boy. You do seem to…admire him a great deal, however," she said with half-lidded eyes.

"Yeah, Dave's pretty great," John said, oblivious. "You should talk to him sometime, that'd be…entertaining!"

"Did you just turn my phrasing against me?"

John chuckled.

"Is your stomach quite settled?" Rose asked.

"Yes, thanks for the—"

"Then you should leave," she said, opening her book back up. "I do have a _persona_ to maintain, and entertaining young men in my private quarters is not part of it." Feeling as if he'd done something wrong, John stood up and left.

* * *

Just outside, he ran into Dave and Jake. "Sup," said Dave.

"Salutations my good chum!" said Jake, ears perked up high. "What business did you have with the Captain? Never mind, come along!" He tugged on John's sleeve, pulling him towards the stairs. Wordlessly and with his hands in his pockets, Dave followed. The staircase was short, and led to a balcony overlooking the hold, half full of crates and boxes sliding around with the movements of the ship. Several lanterns hung from the ceiling on ropes. Across from them was a ladder leading to a doorway beyond which was a small room at the nose of the ship. "Gentlemen," Jake shouted, "Behold!"

Dave whistled. "It's so impressive. Wait, no it's not."

Affecting a paternal voice, Jake said, "the laymen looks at this hold and sees merely a hold, but to the eyes of a man steeped in the spirit of adventure, it's a crucible of untapped creative potential!" He made a grand gesture, and Dave yawned and sat down, legs dangling out over the balcony.

Jake frowned. "Egbert, perhaps you're more adventurish than your friend here—"

"Not a word," Dave intoned from his position on the floor.

"Shut up," said Jake without skipping a beat, as if accustomed to being interrupted, "So, what would you say to a wager?"

John raised an eyebrow. "What kind of wager?"

"Do you think you can make it into that room—"

"Lame," said Dave, laying down on the ground and resting his head on his hands. Though he couldn't see through the dark glasses, John assumed he had closed his eyes to take a nap.

"—without touching the floor?" Jake finished, looking very self-satisfied.

Dave sat back up. "So what are we betting?"

"If you fail, I get all your rupees," said Jake. "If you succeed, you can have the treasure I set up in that room!"

"But what is it?" asked John.

Jake blew a raspberry. "You're not supposed to know! When you're on an adventure you go raiding tombs and suchlike on the mere promise of treasure, nevermind whether it be purest platinum or a dingy old scroll! What say you men? Shall you undertake my challenge?!"

Dave laid back down. "See it was almost interesting but then you had to go and ruin it with your babbling. I don't fucking know. Egbert, you want to do it? Might be worth some laughs."

John frowned. "You think I can't do it? We both have the same sensei you know. I can do anything you can do!"

"Hey John I didn't mean—"

"Yeah, laughs of…_joy_," John spat, ignoring him, "from me! When I collect my random bullshit treasure!" He stepped back towards the stairwell, and kicked off to a running start, leaping through the air, and latching onto a one of the ropes.

He instantly realized that this was a terrible idea. It was pretty far down to the floor; the ship seemed bigger on the inside, and John was reminded that the Captain was some kind of witch. More mundanely, there was a fragile glass ball of burning oil now swinging dangerously under his foot, ready to splash its contents all over his leg, or worse, all over the ship. But he was here now, so there was nothing to it but to apply himself to the task at hand.

Setting his foot on the lantern, wincing at the heat, John began to pump his arms, redirecting his weight towards the next rope. It soon became apparent that it was too far to reach. He would have to jump. He closed his eyes and kicked off. For a brief second, he felt utterly weightless, and then he felt the rope brush his face and clasped his arms around it tightly. He could hear Jake cheering from behind him, as well as lazy clapping that must have been Dave's. "There's only six more to go!" they both said at once, the one with enthusiasm and the other with the dull undertones of the unamused. John did it again.

* * *

He eventually reached the thing. The small room's purpose seemed to be only to light the lanterns in the eyes of the figurehead, which from the inside seemed even more daunting than before. It would certainly be quite a spectacle to meet _the Grimdark_ out at sea on a dark night. There was a large grey chest with a lock shaped like the spade from a deck of cards, with black spikes along the width of it. John opened it, humming a little tune as he did so; he'd apparently always hummed it when opening things but only now seemed to realize. He kept humming as he pushed the lid open. The chest was empty.

He turned around and ran to the doorway, almost falling to his certain death as the ship jerked again. "Goddammit English! There's nothing here!"

Jake laughed. "Just tap the lock old sport! You'll see!"

John glared at the other boy, then went back to the chest and did as he was told. It was suddenly replaced with a small pack of cards. He must have said something but he didn't remember saying it, because he could suddenly hear the other two laughing as hard as they could. "What even is it Egbert? Just tell me," Dave called.

"It's a magic box that turns into a deck of cards and you can't have it," said John.

"Fuck I don't want it," said Dave. "What use is that anyway? The ability to carry an entire armory with you at all times. Honestly. It's unsportsmanlike. But for real though let me stash some things."

* * *

The next day, John awoke tired, heart pounding with anticipation. Tonight he'd either save his sister or die trying. He wasn't afraid, and that wasn't just stupidity or bravado on his part. It was more that he was too preoccupied with anxiousness for any other emotions to take root. He knew that something would happen today, and it may well change his life forever, even end it, and he wished it would just get on with it already and happen. It was five in the morning in December, and the sun wouldn't rise for a while yet.

Wrapped in his thin blanket, he sat at the starboard side, legs dangling underneath the railing, and watched. All around, the ship began to wake. Sollux, vision two-fold making him a perfect night watchman, descended from the crow's-nest to hand his duty off to someone else and finally get some sleep. The two barely acknowledged each other. Below in the galley, Smee stumbled around clumsily, rattling cutlery and banging pots and pans. The ship groaned, a sound like the roar of a beast. John paid it no mind. The lanterns at the front of the ship were extinguished as the morning became blue in anticipation of the sunrise; John saw the reflection of the lights in the water flicker off, first one, then the other.

"Watching the sun rise?" Rose asked. At this point John was not surprised.

"I'm just waiting," Said John. "We're going to get there tonight, aren't we?"

Rose nodded. John didn't see her. She cleared her throat. "It is polite to look at people who are talking to you, Mr. Egbert. And yes, we will arrive at the Forsaken Fortress tonight. Just after sunset, in fact."

"Oh, Farore," he said, finally turning to look at her. Her makeup today was actual makeup and not the dark mask of war paint. There wasn't a hint of grey anywhere on her, though the choice of black lipstick he found unusual. "What is that, like twelve hours? I'm going to go crazy!" He stood up. "You look nice today. Like, nice as in 'not scary', I mean, not as a compliment to your appearance."

Hand on chin, Rose smirked. "The purpose of war paint is to wear it during battle. I can't go around as a grim grey specter of death _all_ day. But is my standard appearance such that it shouldn't be complimented?"

"You're trying to make me flustered but it won't work," John said with a wag of his finger. "I'm socially retarded. I'm incapable of shame, you see."

Rose nodded with sagacity. "Shame is a valuable tool for acquiring social conventions. Without it we would all just be free to do as we willed without fear of the disapproval of others, and then where would we be as a species? Probably frolicking in the Edenic gardens of Drowned Hylia, completely untainted by the sprawl of its fabled cities, eating sweet golden apples, singing songs of such elegant simplicity that our greatest composers would weep for their pretensions, living life to its fullest and making love under the stars, and who wants that?"

"You'd get dirt and stuff in sensitive areas," John agreed.

"But maybe," said Rose, pouting slightly, ears drooping, "I was just fishing for a compliment."

John ran his fingers through his hair. "Don't you have people for that?" he asked. "Go order one of your crewmen to call you pretty while you cry into a bowl of ice-cream."

Rose yawned. "Perhaps later. For now I'm merely going to wonder why it is I can't seem to shake you."

"Sure you can," said John. "I was really confused about why you kicked me out yesterday. I thought I'd done something wrong, but if you're talking to me now it can't have been that bad."

"You were upset that you'd incurred my displeasure?" Rose asked, a hint of smugness washing over her façade.

John shook his head. "I was upset that I'd offended a friend."

Rose choked on her spit. "John, we're not friends!"

"So then you've been flirting with me," he said, suddenly very serious. He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Listen Rose, I've got a job to do. Where I'm going you can't follow—"

"I'm taking you there—"

"What I've got to do, you can't have any part of—"

"I assure you, I've done worse—"

"Rose," he said forcefully, "I'm no good at being noble but the problems of two kids don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. One day you'll understand that." He cupped her chin. "Here's lookin' at you, kid."

She socked him in the ribs. John coughed, "So friends then?" with a pained smile. Rose rolled her eyes and walked away. It occurred to John that she hadn't killed him because there was no one else around to see. "So we are friends."

On towards noon, John saw something on the horizon, and he was certain that it wasn't another island. The rumored 'thousand-thousand islands' of the Great Sea may well prove to be an understatement, he thought, as they had seen more islands than he cared to mention, most of them small and uninhabited, many cluttered with the moldering ruins of Hylian civilization. Had he been looking to the starboard side, he would have seen the grand hamlet of Great Fish Isle, one of the largest towns in this corner of the world aside from Windfall, and rumored to be far more beautiful. Its blue tiled roofs would have glinted just so in the sunlight. The mural on the town wall, which served less for defense than for a canvas, depicting a swarm of fish, no two of which were alike in size and color, would have seemed to be moving with the ocean.

But John was facing port, and had been since he woke up, so he did not see it, and so he never would.

What he saw was a ship. A low, long freighter with a sort of metal pillbox shaped cabin on top. It had no sails or visible means of propulsion, which was just as well, because it didn't seem to be moving. As _the Grimdark_ approached, it unleashed a barrage of trumpets. "NAK," cried Willoughby from the crow's-nest, shrill voice carrying all over the ship.

Soon, everyone had assembled around John, staring at the immobile vessel. "I think they're signaling for help," said John, trying to be helpful.

"Sure is," Vriska muttered, more to herself than to him. "It's one of those stupid Calatian tick-tock things. I hate them."

John narrowed his eyes and gave a sort of half-nod that could have been interpreted as either understanding or a signal to clarify. Vriska sighed. "It uses clockworks to propel itself, but the engines break down all the time—"

"And they are likely relying on the fact to attract our attention," said Rose, who was suddenly in their midst. She was now wearing the dark paint. John's heart sank. Was he about to witness a pirate raid? "There's a 2.5 million rupee reward for my head in Calatia," said Rose. "Tell me John, what should I do in this situation? Likely as not, this is a trap."

He smiled nervously. "That's uh, really flimsy reasoning there. It doesn't look dangerous—"

"Said the boy who has never seen a large ship until yesterday," said Rose. Nobody laughed. "Mr. English," she called.

"Yes Captain," he responded, as enthusiastic as ever. "Shall I perforate the hull with grapeshot? It should cripple her engine—"

Rose snorted. "Her engine is already crippled English, or so the Calatians would have us believe. Load a powder keg onto the catapult. Sink her."

"No, Jake!" John pushed his way through the crowd as the Calatian ship signaled for help again. The other boy turned the catapult with hardly any effort, picking up a heavy, blue-painted barrel with a smoking fuse in leather-sheathed hands and dropping it into the bowl. Jake pulled the lever just as John reached him. The barrel flew through the air in a perfect arc, smashing into the wooden outer hull of the freighter. It plopped into the water and John heaved sigh of relief. It began to signal again—

And was cracked right in half by the exploding powder keg. It must have burned all the way down before hitting the water, John thought, ears drooping as low as they'd ever been, while the burning ruin sank into the ocean.

"Excellent," said Rose, shielding her eyes as she watched the conflagration with a disinterested look. She turned away and headed towards the catapult. "Well struck Mr. English," she said, throwing him a purple rupee. "John," she said, boring into him with her violently purple eyes, "I know what you're thinking, but it wasn't worth the risk of raiding." She put her hand on his shoulder. He backed away. As if she hadn't noticed, or had noticed and simply hadn't cared, she continued. "And regardless, those automated vessels almost never carry anything of value. Just a display of cultural superiority for us rural savages."

Wait. "Automated?" John said through grit teeth.

Rose wore a victorious smirk. "Of course. There wasn't a living soul aboard that ship."

Jake snickered under his breath as John stood there, stunned. Rose turned to leave. And then John started laughing. Rose stopped, and then turned to glare at him.

"That was really good!" John snickered. "I actually believed that you'd done something evil. You're a great trickster!"

"No, stop it," said Rose warningly.

"I knew you couldn't actually be that awful," he said, trying to choke back his guffaws. "It really worked with your persona, I didn't suspect a thing."

"Stop praising me!" Rose snarled. "You're supposed to be humiliated!" John lost control of his laughter. The whole crew was staring now, ignoring the sinking wreck of the freighter. Rose turned on her heel and stalked off to her cabin.

* * *

The air was thin, so high up. Jade could barely breathe, and the massive fist clenched tightly around her was not helping matters. Combined with the quiet rhythmic motion of the monster's wings, and she quickly fell into a sporadic, fitful sleep. She would wake and see the sun, burning brightly like the eye of a god, or, if Abraxas had adjusted his grip as she slept, the formless void of the sea below. It wasn't blue. It was every color. Green and purple and turquoise and deepest navy, spattered with red and orange here and there like blood dripping into a bucket of water wherever the great kelp forests lived. And all of it was spangled with silver dust, becoming richer as the sun grew in strength and pierced through the clouds.

Time and space lost all meaning. She felt she only existed when she was panting for air, looking at the sea. Suddenly it was nighttime, and she didn't realize at first. She mistook the night sky for the sea, thinking they'd passed over some monstrous trench, and the stars for those broken chips of sunlight. Then she saw the bright golden beam of a searchlight illuminating a wisp of grey cloud, and her perspective righted itself just as the air thickened. The monster was going in for a landing.

Jade's sensitive ears began to throb as the pressure equalized. She screamed in pain and tried to cover them, but her arms were pinned to her sides. She would never be quite sure, but she might have passed out one last time.

If she did, then she awoke as she was unceremoniously tossed to a rough-cut wood floor and hauled into a cage by something incredibly fowl-smelling. Everything was asleep except her mind, and she whimpered as the blood rushed back into her veins. "D'aww, you brought us another friend, Moey? You're such a sweet boy," it was a girl's voice. Her words were slightly slurred and had something like what Jade imagined was a Windfall accent. There was a porcine grunt of acknowledgement followed by a sloshing sound as something hit the floor. There was a sharp gasp. "For _me_? Twice in a day? You are just the most perf Moblin ever, Moe! I totally love you."

"Please stop flirting with the…things, Roxy," another female voice, this one quiet and long-suffering. "Sooner or later he's going to actually want…something from you."

The first girl, Roxy, shushed her loudly, and there was a wet sound between a pop and a smack, as if she'd put her hand on the other girl's mouth. "Quiet Janey, we've got to help new girl. She's probably all discombubblated—discombobulated—discumboozled—no, I was right the second time. Fuck it, whatever, she's probably all fucked up. Let's get her blood flowin'." Two pairs of hands started rubbing Jade's limbs, helping to ease the pins and needles that were molesting their way into her cells.

"This'll help ya' out too, new girl," Said Roxy, just as Janey—Jane?—shouted "No!" and a leather bag full of fortified wine was upended into Jade's mouth. The foul taste shocked her into wakefulness as she jumped into a sitting position and coughed out the substance. A very small amount made it into her stomach though, where it built itself a cozy little fire.

Jade beheld a pair of Hylian girls, one with short black hair who looked for all the world like John in female form, her ears turning down at the ends like a puppy's, the other shockingly pink; pink ears, bright, pale pink hair, and downright luminescent pink eyes, as well as a pink tint to her face that was probably brought on by having drunk some of that nasty shit. "I'm Roxy," said the pink girl, "and that's Jane Crocker." She wiggled her fingers. "Welcome to Hell! OoOoOoOoOoOoh!"

"Don't listen to her," Jane said hurriedly. "It's not so bad. They feed us alright, and the guards aren't even allowed to be in this room unless they're bringing people or food in—" Her glasses, once elegant red-framed pieces that had been bent out of shape, fell to the ground and cracked. She made a sound. "Glass is so expensive..." she moaned as she picked them back up.

"Aw c'mon Janey," said Roxy, jovially slapping the other girl on the back with enough force to make her drop the glasses again. "Who cares about glass when the worst is yet to come?" She pointed at Jade. "Janey's only been here a week and a half. My month is up in three days."

"What happens after a month?" Said Jade with a sinking feeling. Girls had been disappearing from all over the Great Sea, or so the rumors said. The room was a huge circle full of wooden cages. They were scattered around the floor, built into the filthy blue walls, suspended from the cavernous ceiling, so high she couldn't see where the chains connected. Only one of them was occupied.

"They take you up to the tippy top and you're never seen again!" Said Roxy, excitedly.

"We don't know what happens," Jane assured. Roxy blew a raspberry while making a prolonged and obscene gesture. "What the fuck could happen? They throw you off it of course." Roxy took a swig from her wineskin.

Jane put her hand on the pink girl's shoulder. "Don't be scared Roxy. You don't have to…" She looked down, embarrassedly.

"Have to what?" Roxy asked. "Drink myself into a stupor? 'Course I do. But it's not what you think." She stood up, striking a heroic pose. "I'm buildin' up a reserve of liquid courage for my daring escape."

* * *

Author's Note: Wow is it tedious to do things on this website. It's a whole song and dance to update things and you can never tell when it'll decide whether or not to fuck up your sexy, sexy formatting. Oh well.

A while ago this fanmade concept art for a Zelda game wherein Zelda was actually the hero circulated the internet. The proposed story involved the nation of Calatia, which for those of you who don't study Zelda lore with religious fervor is Link's homeland in the original game, becoming an industrialized, expansionist empire. There were amazing drawings of their moving fortresses and clockwork soldiers and I really wished it were a real game just because of the gorgeous setting this guy crapped out in his spare time. I drew a wee bit of inspiration from this, and made reference to Calatia's mechanization in this chapter. It's sort of going to be my go-to explanation for all the schizo-tech in the Zelda universe.

'So mitspeiler, do the alpha kids and the guardians both exist? How are you going to explain that?" Shut your gob that's how.

"Drowned Hylia" is the poetic name for Hyrule in this AU, like Columbia for the US or Albion for Britain. You may have guessed why that is. Don't spoil it.

Next chapter; shit gets real.


	5. The Eyes of the Storm

The only sound was the pounding of the ocean waves and the pounding of John's heart as Dave pressed against him, arms tight around his chest, breath hot on the back of John's neck.

Vriska had crammed them both into a barrel. It was very awkward. "Don't worry boys, Jake's a pro," she said, face contorted into a devilish sneer as Aranea, standing beside her, tried to suppress a giggle. "He's going to launch you into that window no problem!"

"How the fuck did you get us in here?" Dave muttered.

"Can you stop breathing so hard?" John asked, turning his head. "It's making me uncomfortable."

"Your cheek is touching my cheek," said Dave. "It should not do that ever."

"But seriously," said John, ignoring Dave, "weren't we just having dinner? When did we arrive?" Aranea grinned, and winked her seven-pupiled eye.

"Fuckin' trolls man," Dave muttered.

"One more breath out of you Dave and I swear to Farore…"

Ignoring the arguing boys, Vriska shouted over her shoulder. "Jake, just fire the stupid thing!"

"Still accounting for wind resistance," he muttered, scribbling on a pad.

"It's fine," Vriska growled, strutting over and pulling the lever.

* * *

The Forsaken Fortress was a massive, crude structure that seemed to have been carved from the living rock. No, shaped. The monolith of bluestone was so warped and crooked that it must have been poured as molten rock into a poorly made mold, the work of some apprentice to a cosmic craftsman. A very poor work, but a grand one. No wall was completely flat, every edge seemed either too sharp or too dull, and the great tower had _branches_, lengths of stone jutting out into the free air hundreds of feet above the sea or the tiny clump of rocks on which it was founded, thin, narrow branches hung with anchors and figureheads of plundered ships, ending in huge lumps that must have been far too heavy for them to sustain, but they did. It was on one of these that the monster Abraxas made its nest, but that was not the strangest sight. Atop the highest branch, higher even than the top of the tower, sat a mighty galleon. Or most of one. Judging by the warm lamplight streaking through the portholes, it was inhabited.

John perceived all of this as he streaked through the air, but didn't have time to properly interpret the information, other than thinking "eh?" before the barrel exploded against the wall mere feet from the window they'd been aiming at. He and Dave plummeted to the water below. Something bright and shiny streaked through the air. He could almost swear he saw something brilliant and pink leaping from the same window.

The water hit him like a barrage of icy daggers, punching the breath from his chest. He almost lost consciousness, but something warm welled up from within him and brought the strength back into his limbs. He swam to a stone ledge, grabbing hold, panting like a dog. His hammer was gone, and Dave was nowhere to be seen. "Fuck!" John took a deep breath, slipped off his glasses, and dove back into the water.

Dave had sunk nearly to the bottom, pulled down by his heavy cape. He looked almost bored as John hauled him to the surface despite having nearly drowned. Of course, he panted much the same as lamer people.

John clambered up onto the ledge and put his glasses back on. "Dave, your shades," he mumbled as his teeth began to chatter.

"Shit are they broken?" He actually sounded concerned.

"Uh, no, but it's pretty dark—"

"When I said I wasn't going to take them off," Dave said, "I meant it. Never again. Not even to sleep." John was stunned. It was so nonchalant, as if Dave hadn't just told his best friend that he was in love with his sister. John said nothing and they began to walk. There was a staircase leading up to a sort of central courtyard that was being absolutely swept by spotlights. There on a step was the broken-off hilt of Dave's sword. He picked up the blade, now only a foot long, with a grimace. Something suddenly started rumbling in John's pocket and he jumped, barely stifling a scream as he slowly pulled it out. Dave watched in silent judgment.

It was a black sphere, semi-transparent with a glowing pink Spirograph embedded deep inside that seemed to move when it was turned. Rose's voice sounded loud and clear inside his head. _My sincerest apologies for mis-launching_, she said, _I assure you Mr. English shall be reprimanded. He is an excellent artillerist, but puts far too much stock in what the Serkets have to say_.

"No, it's okay, we weren't hurt badly," Dave stared at John as if he were going insane. It occurred to him that Dave couldn't hear her. "It's Rose," John explained. "She's talking to me through the ball thingy!"

"Okay you've clearly hit your head," said Dave, adjusting his cape. "I'ma go rescue Jade now you stay here and make sure you don't get eaten by your own skin or whatever delusional people do."

"Fuck you Dave," said John, just as Rose sighed exasperatedly. "Come touch this thing." Dave sighed and took hold of the sphere. _If you want to respond, don't speak but simply direct your thoughts towards me_. To Dave's credit, he did not visibly react with utter terror.

"Oh," John said, then caught himself. _Oh, sorry_.

_Now_, said Rose authoritatively, _what you want to do first is disable those searchlights. Look up at the tower._ There was a narrow stair snaking its way along the outside, jutting out towards the open air without so much as a handrail. A spotlight trailed all up and down the stair, illuminating it with stark clarity. _Let me guess_, Dave thought with a sinking feeling, _that's the only staircase_.

_Indeed so Mr. Strider_, said Rose, dryly_. I suggest you disable those searchlights before doing anything rash. At least the one that is actively shining on the tower, of course._ John looked around, and located the offending machine atop one of the squat, squarish towers set in the fortress wall. He sent an image of himself nodding determinedly. _You are a fast learner, Mr. Egbert_, she said, impressed. _The things should be simple enough to disable, once you get up there._

_ And how do we do that? _Asked Dave.

_I'm confident in your ability to think critically,_ said Rose, tone dripping with sarcasm like blood from the throat of a freshly butchered hog. _Once you've done it though, I suggest you head for the tower immediately, as we will circle around to that side and commence bombardment._ There was a crackling sound and the sphere flared then went dim, burning a brilliant after-image in John's eyes.

"Wish you had shades at night now, eh?" Said Dave, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips.

"I'm getting real tired of your shit Dave," said John with faux anger.

"And what do you see in the flighty pirate wench anyway?" he continued.

* * *

The Bokoblin picked its nose, examined the product, and ate it. He went back to work. It was awfully tedious work, manning the spotlights. Just pulling the levers, looking left and right occasionally. By the stairwell, there was a barrel. He was almost certain it hadn't been there before. Oh well. It wasn't his place to pull levers, it was his place to rip things with his tusks. He wished he was up in the tower with the Moblins. There were girl-children in there, and it had been long since he'd eaten one. They had the softest skin and the sweetest blood, and made such lovely music when you bit into their throats. Of all the things he'd eaten, no flesh had had such rich and complex a flavor, no bone as satisfying and crisp a crunch. It did not occur to him that thoughts like these are why he was being isolated from everyone else and none of the other Bokoblins liked to sit with him at lunch.

Something hard pressed against his throat, yanking him off the controls and sending the spotlights flailing upwards. His feet struggled to gain purchase on the ground but he couldn't, and his sharp little fingers couldn't pry off the fearsome grip. Something was choking him with his own Boko stick, and it was inexorably strong. A voice like a child, but surely it must have been a mighty warrior, called out. "Come on Dave, he's breaking free!" The barrel upended itself and out stepped a figure all in red, pale as a ghost. The Bokoblin tried to scream as the black-eyed monster from his childhood nightmares rammed a broken sword into his belly. His last thoughts were of his dam, scolding him with tales of the monster's boogeyman. The man in red. The Knight.

* * *

"Oh look," John said, rifling through the Bokoblin's pockets. "Another one!" He cheerfully held up another butterfly shaped pendant, nearly identical to the one Dave had. "Shit," said Dave, looking at his own pendant. "Here I thought it was all unique but it turns out they get mass produced in some sweatshop in Labrynna for two rupees an hour by half-starved lizard guys."

"I think it's real gold," said John, weighing pendant, testing the metal with his thumbnail. "So even if it fake it's still worth something."

Dave nodded. "Right, I knew that. We both trained under the same sensei, remember? We both know the same things Egbert, stop trying to one-up me." John chuckled. "We should leave though. Like now." The two rushed down the stairs, leaving nothing but the puddle of spilled magenta on the floor. Off in the distance, _the Grimdark_ readied its cannons.

John and Dave snuck through the dark halls of the Forsaken Fortress. The place was labyrinthine, sprawling and disorganized. The main hallway that should have circumnavigated the building for example, ended abruptly at a balcony overlooking a barracks of some kind. Across from them was an identical balcony, with a door that would lead them to Jade. The problem was getting across.

"Check it," said Dave, pointing. The barracks was supplied with an enormous amount of bunk beds. The Bokoblins, not quite knowing how bunk beds were supposed to work, had assumed that you were supposed to keep stacking them, and so, along the northern wall, there was a creaky, uneven row of beds just a few feet below the balcony. The only problem, aside from the very real danger of the whole structure coming crashing down, was that most of the beds were occupied.

"Fuck that," said John. He pointed to the sole source of light, a lantern on a swinging rope. "I'd rather risk falling to my death. At least I wouldn't be eaten alive."

"Fine," said Dave, "you go one way and I go another, and last one there buys the other one lunch." They looked at each other a second, and John took a running leap for the lamp. Dave sprinted over to the north wall and jumped down, landing deftly atop the wooden frame of a bed, not inches from a Bokoblin's head. He strode with fluid grace across the path of mattresses.

But John made it first. "Hah!" he said, poking Dave in the chest. The door opened and in walked a Moblin, a burly ogre with the head of a boar, a lantern in one hand and a gargantuan spear with a blade like a sword, hung with red tassels. His blue-green pelt was covered in stiff hairs, and his little beady eyes searched this way and that. The boys stood still. These monsters had terrible eyesight, and would not see them if they didn't move. It bent down low and started sniffing, suspicious. He turned to leave—

And the fortress shook with the first salvo from _the Grimdark_. He turned and saw John staggering from the blow, and bellowed, hurling his lantern at the boys. Dave sidestepped it easily, and it went sailing through the air, shattering against the beds. Those few Bokoblins who hadn't been roused by the blast would soon be roused by the smoke, or burned to death.

John swung the stolen Boko stick with all his might, smashing it against the monster's face. It broke, inflicting minimal damage. It sneered, as much as a pig can be said to sneer, and wound up its free hand for a punch—

John stabbed it in the eyes with the two halves of the broken stick. It bellowed again, this time in agony, and charged. John leapt away from the blow, but the monster's fist caught on Dave's cape, and pulled him down over the balcony.

"Holy shit!" John screamed, watching helplessly as his friend fell through the growing smoke cloud to his certain death—

The Moblin broke Dave's fall, and he stuck his sword into the thing's neck. "I'm fine," he said, limping to his feet. His left foot was at a very awkward angle, and his voice barely carried over the sound of screaming Bokoblins. "Don't worry. I'll catch up, you go get Ja—"

A Bokoblin, skin smoking and cracked, covered in blisters, lunged at his face with a burning brand, screaming a cry of rage and pain. Dave struck him down in one blow. "So as I was saying Egbert," he said, sounding impatient. John nodded and ran to the door just as a passel of similarly singed Bokoblins jumped onto his balcony. He had no illusions about fighting them, and went right on through the door, barring it behind him.

Ahead of him was the tower, much more daunting in height than he had first assumed, and he'd found it pretty daunting to begin with. He took a step, just in time to hear a hideous crashing in the room behind him. It was almost certainly the sound of that towering inferno of straw and dry wood collapsing under its own weight. There was a pounding on the door, first angry, then panicked. The sound of shrieking Bokoblins was a dull roar in the background, in harmony with the roaring of the flames. John told himself that Dave would be okay, and ran across the path to the door at the foot of the tower.

The sphere buzzed again just as he reached it. _Rose I think I might have lost Dave,_ he said, and quickly lost coherency.

_That's enough John_, she said sternly, but not unkindly. _Dave can take care of himself, but now it falls to you to lead this little expedition. A leader must be firm in his convictions and show no doubt to the world. Be strong. Open the door._ Out at sea, John could see the Grimdark, the muzzles of its cannons flashing in the dark, the now familiar whistling sound of the catapult cutting through the air as it flung powder kegs at the fortress, followed by the deep, sonorous boom that John felt more than heard. Rose was out there, leading her crew in what must surely be their most dangerous mission yet, and she was fearless. _Thank you,_ she said, mildly amused.

He opened the door, and muttered an expletive. The room was a sprawl of catwalks over some sort of shipyard, and there was a pair of Moblins on patrol in here. He'd have to be careful. _You're going to have to be my replacement Dave_, John explained. _Quick, say something ironically_, he thought as he ducked under a barrel.

_Oh,_ said Rose, with feigned enthusiasm. _I simply adore being compared to your best male friend. It is my favorite thing. Are you in yet?_

Glaring at the Moblins through the bunghole, John responded. _A pair of fat ugly pigmen blocking my way. They're too dense to go check out all the EXPLOSIONS_, he complained.

Rose sighed. _Hold the sphere up to the bunghole_, she said, sounding more amused than she let on. _I want to see_. John did as told, wondering—

The sphere flared the brightest pink yet, and there was a hideous roaring, ripping tearing sound, followed by a howl of purest agony followed by a heavy splash. John looked again once the white starbursts in his vision had cleared. There was a greasy, burned-out smear on the floor where one Moblin had been, and the other was gone. _I exploded him_, Rose explained. _Happily, the other was caught in the blast, so I didn't have to expend too much mana_. John nodded as if he understood. Then he slapped his forehead and sent an image of himself nodding.

* * *

"So Moe," said Roxy, playing with a loose strand of hair. Boys loved it when she did that. "How's about we go behind that curtain over there and I make a proper pig-man out of you?" The Moblin stared at her with an expression of confusion. He grunted questioningly.

"You seriously don't know what I'm sayin'?" Roxy deadpanned.

Jane moaned. "Maybe you should just stop before—"

"Janey I love you like a sister but shut the fuck up," said Roxy, draining her wineskin. "My self-esteem is about to take a serious blow if I'm unable to seduce something with a face so ugly not even its mother could love it." Turning back to the Moblin she started shouting. "You! Me! Snu-snu! Now!" The Moblin took a step back and started grunting animatedly with his companion.

Roxy sighed and retreated to the far end of the cage. She fished into her pocket and pulled out a spoon. The edge of its bowl had been sharpened to military grade lethality. "Here Jane," she said, handing it to her. "I want you to have my prison shiv."

"No, Roxy, please don't give up—" The Moblin opened up the cage door and beckoned with his finger. Roxy smiled with barely restrained glee. She kissed Jane on the cheek. "Keep it, I have an extra," she said, and skipped off through the door. The Moblin locked it shut behind him, and they disappeared behind the curtain. The shrieking of seagulls briefly filled the room.

"Look away dear," said Jane, covering Jade's eyes. "This isn't for children's eyes!"

Jade growled. "I'm the same age as you are!" And then there was a horrible gurgling sound and the Moblin fell back through the curtain with a fork in his throat, tearing it off its rod. Roxy stood on the windowsill, grinning victoriously. The other one screamed in rage and threw his lantern, igniting the curtain and his friend's corpse. He leveled his spear and charged. "I won't forget you guys," she shouted, and jumped out the window. An instant later, something crunched against the window. The second Moblin roared impotently.

"Aw, I missed it!" shouted Jade, shoving Jane away.

* * *

Clinging to the slick, smooth wall with nothing but her fingertips, Roxy felt a moment of cold sobriety. What the Hell was she doing? Maybe she should have just waited out her time. Surely whatever happened to the girls at the end of their month couldn't be—

Many yards away, dread Abraxas stirred in his nest, a sliver of orange light seeping out from his eye. He mumbled and went back to sleep, the air rippling in the wake of his dreams. Okay, nothing associated with _that_ could be any good for her. Lizardlike, she made her way down the wall a few feet at a time, whishing she hadn't been wearing such bright colors when she'd been captured. Of course, the fact that she was captured at all spoke volumes about her value as a proud Sheikah warrior, but it was what it was. Her blasé attitude concerning her heritage _also_ spoke volumes, but goddamn those people were too strict. She decided she _wouldn't_ go back to Chosen. She really didn't have it in her to serve some broken crown all her life with stalwart determination, ready to give her life for princes and princesses long, long dead. Maybe she'd become a pirate.

Upon reaching the bottom, she infiltrated the shipyard. Now she would just have to sail out of here and—

All of the ships here were pieces of crap. She figured clumsy fingered goblin-folk wouldn't be much use at ship-building, but none of the damn things were even sea-worthy. What would she do now?

"Psst," a voice whispered from the shadows. She looked around, but saw no one. "Over here!" Off in the corner, there was another ship, run aground on a pile of slag and sand, covered with a tarp. She rushed over to it and pulled back the coverings. "No fucking way," she squealed, "this so totally perf!"

* * *

Clinging to the slick, smooth wall of the tower, Help up by nothing but his fingertips and the narrow stair underneath, John felt a thrill of exhilaration. Soon, he'd be back with his sister. Then it was just a matter of finding Dave and meeting up with the pirates again. He wondered how they'd manage that, and figured that they would send Vriska and Spades out with the boat again. No big deal, the hard part was almost over. As if in confirmation, his foot finally stepped on solid ground; the narrow stair had ended at a broad path. It was twisted and full of holes out to oblivion, but a high wall protected from the icy breeze, and it looked like a short walk up to the top. He strode up it with the confidence of a hard-fought victory. Just there, in the middle of the path, was his hammer. He grinned as he picked it back up, loving the already familiar weight of the thing. Everything was finally looking up.

Soon, a pair of heavy wooden doors twice his size set with a heavy bar were all that stood between him and his sister. That and a pair of green-skinned Bokoblins armed with heavy machetes and crude wooden shields. The goblin-folk had an odd caste system whose complexity rivaled that of the trolls, but John was sure that the green ones were considered the best warriors outside of the Moblins.

The green-skinned creatures hissed menacingly, flashing their violently purple tongues and began to circle John. He drew his hammer and his shield, and assumed the defensive stance sensei had taught him. True, he was wielding a hammer and not a wooden practice blade, but sensei had been right. John was made for the hammer.

He snapped the hammer overhand, too quickly to see, and smashed it right into the face of the first Bokoblin. Shocking purple blood spattered on his face as he pulled it back and swung towards the second, swatting his machete away just in time. But the creature was quick and raised his shield; it cracked under the hammer blow, but it held. While John was overextended, the Bokoblin sliced with the machete, and John just barely raised his own shield in time to ward off the flurry of blows. The decrepit old thing looked as if it should shatter, but not even the enamel was chipped. John smirked, and the Bokoblin seemed thrown, surprised.

John took advantage and swung again. The shield went up, and exploded under the force of the blow. The Bokoblin leapt back, left arm hanging uselessly at his side. They both swung their weapons simultaneously, and the machete went flying, clattering against the ground. John took his hammer in both hands and thrust—an unexpected move, but he _had_ been trained with swords—lodging the head into the Bokoblin's throat.

John belted the hammer and hung his shield on his back. As the dying creature lay burbling out of its ruined throat, John picked up the bar and tossed aside. He didn't spare a thought to the amount of strength he'd just expended.

A great room, filled with empty cages. John's heart sank, as he walked into the center. A dead Moblin with what looked like a spoon lodged in his spine lay in front of an open cage. Off in the corner, there appeared to have been a fire. There was no one here, he thought, until he heard a voice shout in concern. "Oh no! Roxy's gone, just when our rescue arrives!" He heard the patter of feet running towards him, and was nearly pushed to the ground as something inexorably strong grabbed onto him.

"Shit!" he shouted.

"John!" Jade shouted. Huh? She dropped down from his shoulders and hugged him from the front this time. "You came to save us!"

"Us?" He turned around and saw a pretty girl with short hair, dressed in bright blue clothes and metallic red jewelry. "Uh, hi," he said. "I'm John."

"Jane Crocker," she said, curtsying. "You didn't by any chance happen to see a girl in pink running around, possibly inebriated?"

John shook his head. "We'll look for her on the way out. But we have to hurry, the pirates are attacking, but they can't keep it up forever—"

"Whoa, you joined the pirates?!" Jade asked excitedly. "That's so _cooooool_. Have you hooked up with Rose yet?"

John laughed, only a little embarrassed. It was nice to be the cool one for once. Wait. Shit, he'd nearly forgotten about Dave—

A hideous shriek pierced the air, like the crow of a rooster combined with the screaming of a man and filtered through something completely insane, and the orange eyes of Abraxas suddenly filled his vision as the girls screamed. Hell, he probably screamed too, paralyzed under the obscene, lamplike gaze of the monster. It picked him up, squeezing the breath out of him, and flew upwards toward the ceiling. It wasn't there anymore; there was only the open sky.

The heavy wingbeats like thunder filled his ears as Abraxas steered himself over to the broken galleon, on the highest branch of the treelike tower. A man stood there, waiting. He was big and powerfully built, wrapped against the cold in a bloodred cape embroidered with neon colored serpents, a black cane gripped tightly between his gloved hands. His deep green face was like a grinning corpse that someone had defiled with rouge at the cheeks, and he had a mouthful of green fangs and a single golden tusk. There was not a trace of hair on him except for his curiously long and delicate eyelashes. His eyes though were hideous, piercing the darkness with ever-changing flares of color, pupils stretching and distorting into symbols—numbers?

Abraxas waited patiently. So this was the new lord of the Forsaken Fortress. He considered John very carefully, his eyes wide with something like recognition. Then he spat and turned on his heel, limping back into his cabin. With a single motion, Abraxas hurled John out and away, into the endless sea.

* * *

John drifted in a state between unconsciousness and waking for hours. Drifting, drifting, drifting. The deathly cold of the water soon warmed with the heat of his body, becoming the soothing embrace of a mother, rocking her child to sleep. There was a voice in his dreams, soothing, feminine, with a low, loving timbre. _You are healthy and whole John. Sound in mind, body and soul. All of these broken things don't know what it is to be thus. They hate you and want you to be broken like them. They can't understand that a man should laugh, and a man should cry. Be brave, and come to me._

When the sun was less than a hint of rose-gold on the horizon, the sound of drunken singing broke into John's dreams, and a soft paddling on the water. "The Naygvy—Navy would never had—have, Sheikahs at sea, because they're a buncha bitches—Holy shpit! Shit I mean. A boy in the water! It's fuckin' destiny is wat. What."

* * *

Author's Note:(Law & Order sound) After weeks, we have at long last finished the first hour of gameplay *trollface*. I tapped this out really, really quickly. Hope you guys got your action fix with this one, because the next chapter is going to just be about buying a sail :P But Gamzee's in it though.

I know what question is burning on all of your minds; who is the boat? Those of you who have not played the game; that isn't a typo.

Chosen is a madeup place, the new Sheikah homeland in this story. Yes, Roxy has ninja ancestry if it wasn't clear.

I think John has a high amount of emotional intelligence. He's often able to get to the truth of a matter, especially in person, hence his two very different reactions to Vriska, online and then off. Of course, that rarely happens in canon.

In proud Zelda tradition, I will be teasing John with everybody. You have been warned.

This is the latest chapter of this fic, we are officially caught up! (blows noisemaker). This will now be updated more slowly, as I complete the chapters in real-time.


	6. A Windfall of Opportunity

The first thing John saw when he woke up was a pair of enormous pink eyes grinning down at him. "Rose?" he muttered. The girl leaned back and touched her hair, also pink. "It's more generic pink with a little silver in it for body, but I like a man who knows his shades." It wasn't Rose, but if Rose dyed her hair and made it turn up at the end like an old-timey model, and had eyes a shade lighter, and actually smiled instead of just giving little evil half-grins, then this girl would look exactly like her. "I'm Roxy," she said, pulling John up to a sitting position and shaking his hand enthusiastically. "You must be Jade's brother! She told us all about you," she explained.

"You know Jade?" John asked, confused.

Roxy nodded. "We were cellmates in the Forsake Fortress. I just got away last night. I wish I coulda taken the others…" she said, wistfully.

"It's okay," John said. "If you got out without help, it'll be that much easier to get them out with help." He looked around. They were in a boat, a long, sleek sailboat that might require at least two people to operate. It was very, _very_ pink. The boat was moored in a sort of cave or grotto, a high, triangular shelf of stone help up by wave-carved pillars. It was grey outside, and looked like rain. "So, you saved me?" he asked tentatively.

Roxy nodded. "Found you drifting in the ocean, looking mostly dead. But mostly dead," she said with a roguish grin, "means slightly alive. A little shadow-based magic and you were good as new. But it wasn't just me though."

"I thought so," John replied. "Where's the other person?"

Roxy snickered, running her fingers through her hair. "Don't freak out too much—"

Suddenly, the figurehead of the ship turned; the wooden stem somehow as sinuous and flexible as a swan's neck, and it said, "hello!" John flipped the fuck out. "What the fuck is that!?"

"_The Princess of Pink Tentacats_," Roxy said smartly. "I'm Jaspers," said the figurehead. It was some kind of large cat, with a tall conical hat and a series of dangling tentacles where its whiskers should be. They twitched eerily, and it mewled.

"The figurehead _talks_? Is it cursed?" John asked, reaching for his hammer. "Should I kill it?"

"I'm not a figurehead, I'm a boat," said Jaspers, in a helpful tone. The rudder began to swish excitedly and the boat rocked from side to side. "Me and Roxy helped each other escape from the fortress. Then we found you. Something told me you'd be important. Are you the new Hero?" Her…his?—Roxy had called it Jaspers but it had a masculine voice—its voice was very soft and childlike, like it didn't quite know what it was talking about, or it did know, but not how to express it in words.

John decided it wasn't hostile. "I don't think I am," John said slowly, taking his hand off his hammer.

"That's too bad," Jaspers mewled. "But I'm supposed to pave the way for the Hero. Maybe you can help me?"

"Can you help me get my sister back?" John asked. "If you do, I'll do anything you ask, I swear."

Jaspers meowed in the affirmative. "But," it paused, sounding unsure, "I think our two goals might just overlap. Because the Lord of the fortress is our enemy."

"Of course he is," John said with a look of determination. He remembered the burning colors of the Lord's eyes, filled with baseless hate. "I don't know what he did to you, but he took my sister and he's been taking girls from everywhere—"

Jaspers shook its head, closing its eyes as if entering a trance. "Not just you and me. He is the enemy of all of us. Everything in the land, the sky and the ocean. He would kill everything if he could, even strangle the heartbeat of creation and lock the void into a single unceasing moment, and he hates that he can't. It pounds in his ears every instant like a thousand cannon blasts and every breath that is taken is like a thorn in his eye. His name is Caliborn."

Hearing that alien word filled John with an inexplicable sense of physical dread and disgust, shivering its way across his body. It was a fitting name for the creature in the tower. "The same Caliborn," Jaspers went on, "who claimed the golden power for himself and fought the Knight in Hyrule, drowning the land in darkness. He has returned and grows stronger with every passing moment, calling all evil to him from the corners of the globe, awakening the old gods who had passed away. You will not be fighting for yourself or me or your sister, but for everything, everywhere, for all of time. Will you still help me?"

Voice shaking, Roxy spoke up for the first time in a while, cheerful mood gone. "How do you know all of this?"

Jaspers blinked, shaking its head and opening its eyes, looking around as if confused. It smiled. "I don't know how I know! I'm just a boat!" John and Roxy both nearly fell over.

Trying to keep a straight face, John agreed to his heroic undertaking. "Okay, I'm sure this is supposed to be solemn," he said, drawing his hammer, holding the butt of the weapon between his pals as he knelt. "How'd it go again?" he thought, trying to remember. He breathed deeply and stared down at the hull for a second before continuing. "I vow to protect the weak and defenseless, to safeguard the helpless and do no wrong. I will be without fear in the face of my enemies, and brave and upright that the Goddesses may love me."

Jaspers meowed contentedly. "That's the best thing a man can say!" Without ceremony, the figure head turned towards the ocean. "To the Great Sea! To adventure!" With a determined expression, John sat down at the rear and grabbed hold of the tiller. Roxy let out a whoop and struck an impressive pose at the front of the ship, grabbing hold of Jaspers's neck and shouted, "Let's kick that omnicidal fucker in the shame globes!"

…Nothing happened. "Um," John asked, raising his hand. "Jaspers?"

The boat mewled in confirmation. "Shouldn't we…set sail?"

The figurehead nodded. "You should get right on that!"

There was an audible smack as Roxy smashed her forehead on Jaspers's neck. "I'm so stupid! Sorry John, I forgot to tell you, _The Princess of Pink Tentacats_ doesn't have a sail."

John felt a sinking feeling. "Where are we right now?"

"Windfall Island!" Jaspers aid contentedly.

The sinking feeling became more of a plunging feeling. "That's clear across the Great Sea from the Fortress! We…we did it without a sail?!"

Jaspers nodded happily. Roxy followed suite, looking miserable. "How long has it been?" John asked as the plunging feeling transformed into an orbital-dropping feeling.

With a very forced smile, Roxy said, "just a week!"

The feeling evolved to its final stage by actually making John fall over. Roxy shook him with one hand. "There there Johnny, Jade still has twenty-two days before they take her to the top of the tower and she's never seen again!"

"How the fuck am I going to save my sister," John said, regaining coherency, "and…the whole fucking universe too why not? With a boat that doesn't even have a sail?"

"Don't be stupid," said Roxy. "We'll buy one!" She reached underneath a bench and pulled out a sack. It was filled to the brim with rupees.

* * *

Windfall Island was dense with people. The small, rocky island, nearly bare of trees, was home to the largest population of all the islands on the Great Sea. With nearly two thousand people, it was one of the largest cities in the world. It had been built in the early days of recorded history, soon after the sea had finished expanding and the land settled, perhaps even during the cataclysm itself. There were few traces of the Hylian civilization here, but for the great gate, inscribed with the blocky, complex runes of the sacred tongue. It was impressive, but there was no need for it; most of the city had been built up on the rocky crags, a natural barrier against attack. There wasn't even a wall.

The buildings were tightly packed, growing vertically rather than horizontally, each home a peaked tower hung with pennants and ancient lichen. The oldest were of ancient white stone, found nowhere else on the island, cut into smooth cubes and engraved with delicate whorls. The newer buildings, those built in the last few centuries that is, were made of wood and brick. Looming high above everything, the massive windmill spun its sails slowly and majestically in the breeze, easily three times taller than the tallest building. Up on its hill, the city looked like a castle John had seen in a storybook once. There were precious few castles left.

Walking out from the shadow of the grotto, the two children made their way towards the gate. Most of the island was pasture for the pig-herders; it was much easier to keep pigs out on the great sea than other animals that might require more food and care. The main export here was pork, but the real backbone of the city was trade. Tall ships from the distant west were moored in Windfall's port, rubbing metaphorical shoulders with rib-sailed junks from Chosen and proud steamers from the republic of Calatia. Windfall was equidistant from everywhere. The marketplace of the world. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to run around, looking at shops, befriending locals, or simply gawk at the metropolitan crush of people, but Jaspers had warned them not to play around. Roxy grinned and grabbed John's hand. "C'mon, let's go play around!"

The first thing she did was buy herself some new clothes. This took merely one hour, but John felt that he had lost at least five years off his life. He tried not to begrudge her of course; she'd been wearing the same thing for a month. "How do I look Johnny?" she asked, posing for him as she stepped out of the changing room. She was wearing a long, tastefully embroidered blue tunic, a dark blue hood and matching tights, some black calfskin boots with short but pronounced heels, and matching fingerless gloves. John wasn't looking. "Like a proud Sheikah warrior who is also fabulous?"

In an uncaring monotone, John replied, "yes. No. Maybe. Too green? I don't know. If you like it that's fine."

Roxy pouted. "I just need a domino mask to complete the look. Then I would be so badass, like you have no idea."

"Wait," said John, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "You're Sheikah?"

"Duh," said Roxy, rolling her eyes. "With my complexion and my eyes and my ears, what the hell else would I be? A troll? Why would you even say that?"

"Don't you guys run around wearing black and assassinating lords and stuff?" he asked, confused. "How'd you manage to get captured?"

Roxy blew a raspberry. "Oh suddenly you're interested! I thought you islanders all ran around eating dogs and communicated in clicks and whistles, but you clearly don't, so obviously stereotypes are wrong. We can't have an entire ethnic group composed of ninja assassins. _You_," she said, jabbing at John's chest with her finger, making him shrink back as if it were a dagger, "are a _racist_." She stormed out of the shop. Then she stormed back in and plopped a purple rupee down on the counter. "I'm taking this!" she snapped at the shopkeeper, who nodded hurriedly, before storming back out again.

John ran after her. "Shit, okay, I'm sorry, that was bad of me and—"

She turned around and beamed at him. "It's okay," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. "An apology, that's all I wanted. Besides," she leaned in conspiratorially, "on a bright night in the big open spaces of Chosen, black just stands out against the moonlight. Dark blue, that's the color you want." She winked a big pink eye and backed away. Grinning uncertainly, John followed.

A thought occurred to John. "So, most people who look like you are Sheikah?" he called after her.

Roxy giggled. "Yes John, that's what an ethnic group means, a buncha people who look alike."

"But there's not that many of you right?" John asked. "I mean…did you ever hear of a guy who took his baby brother way far south? Like, a really expert swordsman, or master smith?"

Roxy shook her head. "Can't say I have. I remember some pampered war-prince running away a few years ago, but that's it."

"How old is he?" John asked, excited.

"He'd be about sixteen now," Roxy said, entirely uncaring that she had just ruined John's hopes of finding out more about sensei's past. Roxy suddenly gasped and ran off towards a stall. John hurried after. "Did you find a sail?" he asked, excited.

"Better!" announced, turning around and showing him what she'd found. John stopped just in time to avoid impaling himself on the knife. Dull grey iron, single-edged, very simple design. "It's perfect for throwing," Roxy explained. She turned back towards the merchant. "Can I get like twenty of these?" she asked, playing with a strand of her hair and grinning coquettishly. Within a few minutes, she had purchased the lot for a song.

"What do you need so many knives for?" John asked as she sequestered them about her person.

Roxy shrugged. "There's a million-and-one situations you might need a knife, especially when you're out on an adventure!"

John laughed. "You're on an adventure too?"

"That was a joke right?" she asked sharply. "Why would I even go through the trouble of matching with you if I wasn't going to help?" It took John a second to realize they were both wearing blue. "We're like, a team now," Roxy announced.

Carefully, John said, "I guess it'll be useful having a…_not_-ninja assassin aboard."

Roxy gave a stiff nod. "Now," she said, affecting an air of mystery, "would you like to be inducted into the dark and mysterious ways of the Sheikah?"

John thought for a moment. Then he nodded. Roxy smiled. "Okay," she said, grabbing his hand again, "let's go get your ears pierced!"

"What!?"

* * *

It had hurt like a bastard and bled everywhere, and now John had a dark bluish-purple ring stuck in his left ear, which was already beginning to swell. The white fur had been stained an ugly brown around the wound. "How did you even get me to do this? Did you use your evil shadow-based magicks on me? You did, didn't you!?"

Roxy laughed. "Just shut up and drink your mocha!" John frowned and took a sip. It was good. "Nah," she continued, assuming a posture of repose, "It was just my feminine wiles," she winked. John wasn't sure he liked her doing that. She really was very pretty…. He looked away. They were in a small café on the second floor of some building. It was out of the way and gave off an aura of exclusivity. Tastefully decorated with pottery and creeping plants, it smelled deliciously of coffee and baked goods. The café was full of sailors at the moment, but not the rowdy kind; this place didn't even serve alcohol. "How much money have we got left?" John asked, still not quite looking at Roxy but more in her general direction.

She produced her bag—John was unsure where she kept it—and rummaged around. "Well, after my clothes, my knives, getting your ears done, and the café, we are at about…"she moved a finger a few times, as if counting. "Seven rupees."

John sighed. "That's not nearly enough for a sail, is it?"

A new voice spoke out now. "Assuming that two young people such as yourself will have a small boat between them, a new sail will generally run you about eighty rupees." It was a tall troll in a red cloak. His hood was drawn over his face, but his horns stuck out through the flaps at the top. They were short and nubby.

"Hi Karkat!" John announced.

The troll growled. "I'm not Karkat. Listen to me. You are Sheikah, yes?"

John started to shake his head, but Roxy kicked him under the table and mouthed that he should play along. He started nodding his head. "Then you should be willing to accept a job for me. There is a man who has been unjustly imprisoned, a purple-blooded troll. You will release him."

"Oh is that all?" Roxy asked flippantly. "That's nothing for us. We've got mad prison breaking skills. Isn't that right?" She winked again. John colored a little and nodded, trying to look tough instead of confused.

"Good," said the troll, dumping a bagful of rupees onto the table. "You'll get the rest once the job is done." And he stalked out of the café.

"Well that was certainly lucky," said John tentatively, "but why did he think I was a Sheikah?"

Roxy pointed at her left ear, which had a similar earring to the one that had been brutally stabbed through John's. "Stuff like this is just going to keep happening, isn't it?" John asked. Roxy smiled and nodded.

* * *

Author's Note: (Cockney accent) Bit short, innit? Ah well, next chapter'll be a long bugger to compensate. I'm kippin' off for a week, later mates.

If this were a game, then John getting his ear pierced would be one of those decisions that affect the kinds of quests you get. The earring thing itself is based on the Zelda manga, where Link's earrings a sign of Sheikah training.

I really want to convey two things that are only touched upon in the game. The unity between land, earth and sky is a recurring theme in Japanese media, including this game, especially with the introduction of the Rito (a race of fliers who live in a volcano in the middle of the ocean). Second, Hyrule is portrayed as something of an Atlantis myth, but really, towards the end of the game it starts to sink in that it's much more of a POST-APOCALYPSE. I'll touch upon a bit later.

*Ahem* Roxy joined your party! A very capable ranged fighter, she uses throwing knives and Sheikah magic. Her puzzle solving skills are better than John's, when sober. Hearts: 2. Magic: 10. Can JUMP. Attack power doubles when DRUNK.


	7. A Foehn Came Down the Mountain

John and Roxy stood atop the stone promontory and looked out towards the north, surrounded by green grass, kept lush by the wet winter season. Directly below them was the grotto where Jaspers sat moored, awaiting a sail. "Chosen's that way," said Roxy, pointing off into the distance. She said it almost as an afterthought.

"Is it a big island?" John asked idly, his attention divided. The stone monument right in front of him was nearly as tall as himself, and so ancient that the carven letters had almost been worn smooth. Not that he could have read them; they were ancient Hylian. He'd seen a gravestone once, in a book. Most islanders buried their dead at sea; if they didn't, there would soon be no room for the living. "Bigger than this one?"

Roxy giggled. "It's a continent John! It goes on for miles and miles and there's places you can't even see the ocean." John tried to imagine it and found that he couldn't. Roxy stepped forward and leaned toward the monument, squinting. "I think I can read it, if you want."

John nodded excitedly. "Would you, please?"

Roxy cleared her throat, affecting a pretentious and scholarly mien. Slowly, a bit haltingly, either due to unfamiliarity with the language or because of the worn-out nature of the script, she began. "…and I swear to you, that some among you will still breathe and tread upon the Earth when I return. For I am the Oracle of Oracles, and all the shining lands you see around you are my dominion. Mine are the flowing rivers and the rolling plains, the flowering woods and the high mountains. Mine are the thousand-thousand hills of Hyrule, and…" Roxy giggled. "I can't go on after that, the words are too faded."

John was suddenly conscious of the roar of the ocean in his sensitive ears, more so than he ever had been in his life. Rolling plains? Flowering woods? A thousand-thousand…hills? He stepped closer to the edge. There was nothing, nothing but the great churning expanse of water, as far as his eyes could see, and farther; it was eternal and endless and beautiful, and it had never seemed so empty to him. John's throat tightened just slightly as the barest beginning of a thought formed in his head, that there might be something _irreparably_ wrong with the world he lived in. He tightened his hood around his head and looked down at his feet.

Roxy turned, big smile souring slightly. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No," John lied.

* * *

The new city jail was a maximum security facility with three foot thick walls of solid stone converted from an old lighthouse, half a mile away from the city on a tiny island. Gamzee Makara was being kept in the old jail. He was its only tenant, and the place was generally left unguarded. The low brick building was at the edge of town, near where this forgotten Oracle had given his final sermon. Dark smudges around the windows and a slight warping of the bricks spoke of a massive conflagration. People said the building was haunted. John was more chagrinned than anything to see the angelic-seeming Aranea's handiwork. "Shall we?" asked Roxy, offering her arm. John snorted and kicked down the door. It broke easily.

The ceiling was low, but the room was wide. It smelled strongly of smoke, and their footfalls were muffled by the thick, black ash. Odd mushrooms, some of which glowed an eerie blue, grew in the corners. The wind streaming past the barred windows made a high, keening sound, like a mournful wail. Something stomped around upstairs, releasing several trickling streams of ash with each step before standing still and letting out an ugly, burbling sound. The two kids looked at each other. John offered his arm.

The far wall had been composed of cells, but the iron bars had corroded and warped to uselessness in the blaze, and were used only as storage. Roxy searched through the heavy pots and crates, turning up a few rupees. "I think we could buy a sail now, actually," she said, smile huge, yet not reaching her eyes.

John gulped. "We did promise that guy—" the burbling sound came again. John released a sharp stream of breath from between his teeth. "That poor man is trapped in here," he said, after a long pause. "We've got to get him out."

Roxy sighed. "I can tell you're one of those hero types, aren't you?" she said, resting her cheek on her palm.

John shrugged. "I'm just trying to do the right thing.

"It's worse than I thought…" she muttered under her breath. Resignedly, she motioned to the corner and said, "I think there's something under that crate."

Between the Sheikah not-warrior and the blacksmith's apprentice, the heavy box was easily moved. Underneath was a metal trapdoor that had been stained an ugly red-brown by the fire but was otherwise untouched, to Roxy's consternation. The burbling sound was heard yet a third time and a heavy, wet tread could be felt but not heard, as if muffled by a thick layer of ash. The kids jumped down the hole as quickly as possible.

The dungeons below the jail were a labyrinthine maze of narrow brick and stone passages, barely big enough to walk through stooped. "Johnny, if I have to crawl, I'm leaving you to die," Roxy threatened.

"It's not so bad," he said, trying to sound brave. Upstairs, something squished.

The crude tunnels never got any narrower, but due to some illusion or trick of perspective, it became tighter and more and more cramped with every passing second. Roxy was not afraid of enclosed spaces, but John had never been in such cramped quarters, and he felt like he was walking through some monstrous throat, clenching and squeezing him down into an enormous stomach. He imagined that he was going to be crushed, or worse, get stuck, and then he would never get back out. He'd be trapped down here forever. No, he would starve. No, whatever that thing was that was following behind would find him, and….

A hand rested on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. John stiffened. He turned, trying not to scream. He saw Roxy, smiling reassuringly. Hesitantly, he smiled back. That's right, he wasn't alone. If he got stuck, Roxy could help him out, and vice versa—

Then something scurried across his foot and he did scream.

Roxy screamed too, though more in abhorrence and disgust than in fear, because she had actually seen what it was; a rat the size of a housecat, bright purple with accumulated filth and mushroom spores. In an instant, she had a knife in her hand, and an instant later, the rat was pinned to the wall through its chest. The rat's lower body hung limply while its upper body spasmed and twitched. It dropped a purple rupee coated in gunk. The kids decided not to touch it.

"If that's the worst there is down here," Roxy postured, "Then you've got nothing to worry about Johnny," she said, throwing her arm around his neck.

John chuckled a bit forcedly. He really did like Roxy, but she was a tad too chummy. He'd have to talk to her about personal space, but sure as fuck not right now. "I wasn't scared," he muttered. "I was terrified!"

Roxy laughed. Then, her ears twitched sharply to the left as faint tinkling was heard. The tunnel branched away towards that direction, and at the end of it was another rat. In its forepaws it held a bell on a string. Roxy readied another knife—

And fell through the floor just as the trapdoor gave way below her. John looked down into the abyss. "Shit," he muttered. Rats chittered. Something burbled just behind him.

* * *

"Did you get the sail?" asked _the Princess of Pink Tentacats, _wagging its tiller excitedly and sending up little sprays and clumps of foam.

It took Roxy a moment to realize that she was floating in the brine in front of their talking boat. Up above, there was a perfectly circular hole leading into thick, black darkness. The boat mewled to get her attention.

"Sorry your highness," she muttered. The foam fizzed and popped as it dissolved back into seawater.

The figurehead turned its…head, as if confused. "Why do you call me that?"

"It's written on your side," Roxy said, pointing. In striking Tyrian ink, big, happy letters in a blocky yet slightly curved hand spelled out the ship's name.

The figurehead looked at it for a full minute. "I'm Jaspers," it insisted. Roxy rolled her eyes.

"I should be getting back up there," she said. Whispering loudly, she added, "I think John's a little claustrophobic." She clambered aboard the ship and nimbly ascended the narrow stem until she stood atop Jaspers' head, her feet to either side of its conical hat. "Hey," she asked, the thought having just occurred. She turned her head down to look at it, arms crossed. "Are you even a boy or a girl?"

Jaspers thought about this for a full minute, shifting his head from side to side as it did so, shaking even Roxy's Sheikah built balance slightly. "I'm Jaspers," it insisted. Again, Roxy rolled her eyes. Then she looked up at the hole, and wondered how to get back in.

* * *

John made his way through the maze, hammer in hand. He was somewhat ashamed to have left Roxy behind, but figured she would probably be alright. He hoped.

The ground underneath was thick with sludge, but stepping carefully, he could tell where the true floor was made of stone or of wood. A wooden floor indicated another trap. _Fuck_ rats, when did they become so bastard intelligent? After some twenty minutes of fumbling through mushroomy luminescence and straining his ears till they almost fell off listening for the telltale burble, he at long last reached the center of the labyrinth. There was a high, circular room of stacked stone, with a metal cage on a platform rising out of the muck. It was empty. "Goddamit!" he shouted, trying to throw his hood on the floor. Sadly, it was attached to his shirt.

And then something squished right behind him. His ears picked up a vigorous burbling, like someone hyperventilating through a mouthful of prison sludge. Slowly, John turned around. That was exactly what it was.

The horribly distended jawline revealed massive, tombstone teeth built for crushing bone, and the wedge-shaped mouth was locked in a permanent rictus grin beneath, black, hollow eye-sockets. The monster's flesh was pale as a maggot, where it wasn't fetid the fetid grey of rotting flesh. Its long neck attached to a trunk as thick as a bull's chest, with puny crippled arms like a child's, but bent at angles reminiscent of a plucked chicken's wings. Instead of legs, two pairs of impossibly long, lanky arms suspended it from the floor like a hideous spider, each huge, bony hand equipped with long fingers and ragged red nails. Sludge dribbled from its mouth. Burble, burble.

John took a swing at its face. Quick as lightning, one of the creature's corpse-like hands caught the hammerhead in its palm. Its wrist bent at a nasty angle with a hideous crack, but it held. Another hand lashed out at John, and he leapt back just in time, turning a certain disembowelment into a few painful scratches across his chest. He didn't want to think about where those red nails had been. He looked down at the floor and thought about it anyway.

The creature suddenly flopped to the ground with another unsettling squish and launched a flurry of blows at John with all four of its hands. John took swats at the flailing limbs with his hammer, but the monster was undisturbed by pain, and continued lunging with its limbs even as they snapped under John's hammer. He cursed himself for not being a better swordsman. If he had been, sensei would have given him a blade, and he could slice off these things and kill the beast at his leisure. Sadly, this was not the case.

Then came a series of wet _*thunks*,_ followed by a slurred cry of "fuck you asshole!" and the monster turned its bulk around, releasing a hiss that sounded more irritated than anything. Stuck in its back were five identical throwing knives, each one just a hair off from its spine, one lodged right in between two vertebrae. Thick gobs of multicolored corpse-blood oozed from the wounds. John took a running leap and aimed for the final knife, pounding it like a stake deep into the creature's body, unleashing a spurt of ugly green.

The monster bent double as if he'd cut it in half, and started spasming and flailing, pained hisses coming from its too-big mouth. Roxy stood on the other side, a pair of bloody knives in her hands. Face contorted in rage and disgust, she hurled them into the monster's empty eye-sockets. The creature twitched once, whole body bucking as if bounced from a great height, and landed on its side. It lay still.

"Are you okay, John?" she asked, jumping over a twisted tangle of arms to his side. "It didn't hurt you?"

John almost said no, but he suddenly became very aware of the gashes in his chest. They were shallow, but they were beginning to burn and itch fiercely. Already, they were becoming very swollen. Roxy swore. "That is so infected John!" she leaned in while also turning her face, as if forcing herself to look at the wound. "He better pay us enough for a doctor—"

There was a wet ripping sound and the creature's chest tore open. John and Roxy screamed. A hand emerged and John threw his hammer, but it went wide. It was very fortunate that it did.

A very wild looking troll with the horns of a goat in clown makeup dragged himself out of the monster's chest cavity. He wore a purple outfit complete with a disturbingly elaborate leather codpiece, and his mass of shaggy black hair was spattered and stained with the monster's colorful fluids. He stood, or rather unfolded his lanky form, and looked around with a beatific smile, gave a short bow, then tore off one of the corpse's arms with the sound of splintering bone and screamed, swinging it wildly. "EVERY MOTHERFUCKER ON THIS ISLAND DIES NOW!"

John felt a pang, suddenly cold and numb, and nearly fell over. Everything seemed to slow down. A voice filled his head, soft and caring. _You have very little time John. Move quickly._ He became very aware of a canteen hanging from Roxy's belt. He felt a sense of confirmation, as if a voice in his head could nod in approval, and snatched it. The troll was muttering something vile under his breath as he swung the arm towards Roxy's neck, but he might have been moving through molasses. John knocked the rotten thing out of his hand and rammed the canteen into the troll's mouth, squeezing. Thick, foul-smelling yellow-green liquid gushed down the troll's throat.

Everything snapped back to normal. John staggered, and the troll fell backwards onto the ground with the squeaking of a rubber horn, looking extremely content. "What is this stuff?" John asked, gasping. He was beginning to get dizzy.

Roxy laughed embarrassedly. "It's, um, sopor."

John was suddenly too tired to ask what that meant, but Roxy read the confusion on his face. "I guess you could call it alcohol's evil step-mother. It will severely fuck up a human. Trolls are strong enough to drink it, but it's highly addictive. Mostly they just soak in it to help them sleep."

John couldn't help but laugh, even though it hurt his chest. He wanted toask why Roxy had it, but all that managed to come out was, "so…trolls literally go to sleep…_pickled_?" It took Roxy a second to get it, but when she did, she went into a fit of adrenaline fueled giggling, just as John fell over unconscious.

* * *

_They are trying to break you John. Remain strong. All things break, except the wind. The starkblast shatters forests. The squall is a scourge upon the damned. The harmattan blasts and burns with dusts and cold. All things quail beneath the fury of—_

"Wakey wakey motherfucker," said a dull, raspy voice, its tones and candences jumping erratically. John opened his eyes and saw the clown, unruly mop now tamed by a very odd, rounded conical hood. Naturally, there were flaps for his horns. Slowly, John reached for his hammer.

"No Johnny, Gamzee's a good guy," Roxy warned from her position in a chair. Her tone was extremely tired, and just a bit slurred. It occurred to John she might have a drinking problem. The three of them were in a clean, comfortable room that was a far cry from the dingy depths of the city dungeon. "He knew where all the loot was," Roxy continued, "we had enough for a room at this inn, and about fifty gallons of red potion to shove down your throat. After the guy paid me, we can buy a whole fleet's worth of sails!" She seemed to be trying to feign enthusiasm. John was touched.

"How long was I out this time?" he joked, sitting up.

"Just about seven hours," she said.

John nodded. "This was such a waste of time," he concluded. "We should get going now," he started to slip out of bed.

"Hold on motherfucker," Gamzee said, shoving John back onto the bed. "I ain't thanked y'all for getting me outta the monster's belly," he began to fumble with his belt.

"Oh Farore no why—" John shouted as he panicked, trying to crawl off the other side of the bed. Gamzee caught his foot with one hand. "Check out this little miracle, motherfucker," said the troll, voice low. He hurled up a handful of confetti. "Gamzee," He threw up another with his opposite hand, "Gamzee!" He leapt into the air and twirled with enough force that his image blurred at the edges and John felt the wind from his passing, "kooloo limpah!" He made a three-point landing and segued into a backflip, shouting "become a _miracle_!" There was a popping sound and the acrid stink of black powder, and suddenly Gamzee was wreathed in white smoke, holding something in his hands.

It was a small yet bulky pictobox, fitted with brass and red enamel, with a silvery flashbulb in the upper-right corner. The troll presented it to John as Roxy clapped. "This little motherfucker here is special," he leaned conspiratorially, "there's a little firefly trapped in it and she _knows_ shit man. Secrets about the world and the people in it. You wanna know the name of your true love?" His voice went so quiet that John could barely hear. "You wanna know how she'll die? She _knows_, motherfucker. The little firefly _knows_."

He straightened himself and once again John got the idea of unfolding in his head; the troll was very tall and very long, his every movement was like some kind of big production. The man belonged in a circus. He flashed a grin, which might have been completely innocent or entirely unfriendly. All John knew was that he had the biggest fangs of any troll he'd ever seen; the incisors ought to count as tusks. Gamzee produced a bicycle horn in another burst of black powder (John scoffed at the cheap effects, thinking he could do much the same with just sleight-of-hand) and towards the exit, honking as he went, his curly-toed clown shoes flopping against the floor. He produced a flatcap, flipping it onto his head just so he could doff it at Roxy (show-off, John thought) and slipped right out the door.

"What do you think such a nice guy did to wind up in that prison?" Roxy asked, hiccupping. She was swaying from side to side.

"Probably freaked someone the fuck out," John said. "Or maybe they just decided his magic tricks were too bad to let him out into society." Roxy chuckled and fell back into her chair, asleep. John sighed, getting out of bed, lifting the girl up and setting her down in his place. He sat vigil in the chair until the grey winter noon.

* * *

It felt like an eternity since he had seen Jaspers, and he was surprised at the amount of happiness he felt at meeting the smiling, ultra-pink boat yet again. "Do you have a sail now?" Jaspers asked with childlike enthusiasm. John nodded. Within a few minutes, Jaspers was sea-worthy. After some careful tiller-work on Roxy's part combined with John straight up getting out to push a few times, they were out of the grotto and streaking across the water towards the east like a fish. "Where are we going?" John asked as he hauled himself back aboard. Jaspers was purring contentedly, enjoying the sensation of his body slicing through the water, and did not answer.

"Oy!" Roxy shouted. "John asked you a question!" Jaspers mewled, tentacles twitching. Roxy looked down, found a stray pebble, and threw it at Jaspers. The boat turned its head and hissed, bearing the mouthful of nails it had for teeth, tentacles flailing dangerously. "I'm sorry," Roxy squeaked. John chuckled under his breath, covering his mouth.

"It's okay," Jaspers said, smiling again. "We're going, um…." It—he, John arbitrarily decided Jaspers was a he—cocked his head and thought a moment. "Dragon Roost Island! The trolls have something we need."

The kids waited a second. Making a studious face, Roxy squinted and rubbed her chin. "Go on," she encouraged.

Jaspers seemed surprised. "Oh! The hero needs something for his quest."

Another pause. "And we're going to get it…?" John asked.

Jaspers shook his head. "We're not the hero! We're paving his way," his voice was becoming quieter, his glass eyes glazing over. "There's something the hero needs, but it's locked away. There are three pearls, tokens of the goddesses, which serve as the keys. They were entrusted to ancient bloodlines and scattered across the Great Sea, awaiting the day that they shall be put to use." Jaspers blinked, and his face returned to normal. "The hero's a very busy man, probably, so we should get some tedious things out of the way for him!"

"Well when you put it like that…" Roxy muttered.

* * *

John found he much preferred the sensation of riding a sailboat to that of riding a canoe, or a pirate ship. There was a real sense of acceleration, without too much of the groaning and rocking that had made him sick aboard _the Grimdark_. Jaspers' prow cut a swath across the water, sending up silvery-white spray to glint in the thin, grey sunlight. The fine droplets soon beaded John and Roxy's arms, coating them in miniscule silver pearls. They tried not to move too much, or the droplets would shatter into ordinary water and the magic would be lost.

Looming in the distance was the majestic bulk of Dragon Roost. The great mountain was like a pillar rising up from the ocean to support the sky, so sheer no one would be able to climb it. Without wings, that is. Its summit was wreathed in dark clouds of bright embers and black ash, swirling around the peak, flashing with occasional bursts of green and yellow.

The trolls had once ruled the world, in the early days of recorded history. They laid claim to the inheritance of old Hyrule, what little of it could be recovered, and their empire stretched from Chosen to the great ice flows of the south. Only the hermit kingdom Labrynna behind its great wall of water was exempt from conquest. The god of the trolls was powerful and omnipresent, and his burning eyes scorched green leagues of desolation across the world. But eventually, he grew weary of battle and plunder, and chose to remain idle on his mountaintop, contemplating deeper mysteries. The empire withered without his help, as trolls didn't breed fast enough to maintain it. They would have been destroyed by their many enemies, if he hadn't given one final blessing; the power of flight. The last vestige of the once great empire was its fantastic postal service.

A handful of bright-winged lowblood postal carriers skimmed across the water, hauling empty sacks. Some waved a greeting at kids in their obscenely pink boat. Jaspers meowed loudly in response, and one of them fumbled and nearly fell into the ocean before righting himself and flying full speed back to Windfall. The others, who were slightly farther off, laughed at him. The sun was starting to come out for the first time in a while, and it nearly blinded John, accustomed to the gloom. Out on the open sea, everything was bright. The sea about turned gold, and the flickering insect wings of the mailmen; red, tawney, gold and deep green, were like jewels.

Directly ahead of them, the water parted and a figure rose up and out, graceful as a dolphin, holding a golden trident. A troll, but unlike any John had ever seen. Her horns were long and curved gently away from each other, and she appeared to have fins. He didn't get a very good look, however, because at the height of her jump, she unfurled her wings, a nearly translucent purple and so delicate they shouldn't have been able to carry her, and flitted off to the island. The passel of carriers accelerated to keep up with the new troll and made formation around her, sounding on trumpets as they went.

Roxy shook John's shoulder. "Dude! I think we just saw the Empress!" She touched her face. "I think the Empress splashed me just now when she breached! OMDNF!"

John raised his eyebrow. "Have you been drinking?" She didn't answer. "When did you even have time?"

* * *

Eventually, they reached the island. The mountain was so massive that it had seemed a lot closer than it had actually been. It was now late afternoon, and the sun was setting across the ocean, but here at the foot of Dragon Roost, the light was dingy and brown. The clouds above looked sick and angry, unnatural. There were no docks here, as the trolls discouraged visitors for their own safety, but their love of rugged individualism meant it was not strictly forbidden. John and Roxy ran Jaspers ashore, and John stuffed the sail in his warchest to prevent theft. "It really is handy," he said. Finally noticing the inclement weather, he asked Jaspers about it.

The boat stuck his wooden tongue out, thinking. "The guardian of this island is angry." Just then a resounding boom of a roar filled the air, a thousand times louder and more fearsome than anything John had ever heard. Carrying on for more than a minute, it shook him to his bones, and up above, the clouds began to part revealing white light at the summit so bright and piercing that he was momentarily dazzled.

"Shit look out!" Roxy shouted, pushing him to the floor. The sound, almost like a physical object, barreled down the side of the mountain, cracking stone with its passing and warping the air. It slammed into the ground and splashed away in all directions, sending rocks flying and bending the palms so far it was a wonder they didn't break. Rising to his feet, John brushed himself off, helped Roxy up, and, shielding his eyes, muttered, "What the flying fuck?"

"Pyralsprite is very powerful," Jaspers said helpfully. "The trolls probably won't just let you have the pearl, and you might have to do something dangerous to prove yourself. With Pyralsprite angry, you'll need magic just to survive." Jaspers' eyes went wide and he began to cough, wooden lips pulling back over iron teeth, tentacles stiffening.

"Are you oka—?" John began, but was interrupted by a wad of phlegmy wood-pulp and barnacle shells smacking him in the face. It was Roxy's turn to laugh at him.

Slowly, John wiped off the glob of detritus and cleaned himself off with a handkerchief. As he was cleaning his glasses, Roxy noticed something in the pile of gunk. It was long and made of some bluish metal. "Look, there's a thing!"

John saw it. Eyebrow raised, he asked, "can you get it for me?"

Roxy blew a raspberry. "Hell no. No need for both of us to get filthy."

John sighed and picked it up gingerly, heading over to wash it in the seawater gently lapping against the beach. It was a rod the size of a small dagger, complete with crossguard, though rather than having an edge or a point, it was shaped with thick whorls and knots, and John got the impression that a longer piece of metal had been somehow twisted into this shape. It wasn't moving, but for some reason John felt the need to grip it tightly as if it would squirm out of his hand and fly away if he didn't.

"Is that a magic wand!?" Roxy asked enthusiastically, leering at it over John's shoulder.

"Even better," said Jaspers, "it's a Breath Waker!"

'From now on you're going to explain new things right after you bring them up, instead of waiting for a prompt," Roxy said warningly.

Jaspers made a low sound between a purr and a giggle. "People used to worship the gods with music. Each god has an instrument that is sacred to them and makes them the most happy to listen to. Sometimes everyone would get together and play, and one person would lead them. He would point with the Breath Waker and they would follow his instructions, and together they would work the strongest magicks! But a strong Breath Waker didn't need other people, the winds would sing along with its instructions. That Breath Waker," Jaspers said, pointing with a tentacle, "was forged by the smith-god from a little wind and given to the king of Hyrule way back in the beginning. It's special. It can play the wind, and so much more."

John lifted the instrument reverently. This was amazing. Up until now, he had thought, deep down, that wouldn't be able to stand up to Caliborn. That thing was the Emperor of all Evil, an ancient sorcerer that made war on the gods, and John was just some blacksmith's apprentice from the ass-end of nowhere. But now, he had an edge. He could play the wind. "Alright," he said, beaming. "How does it work?" John's blue eyes locked eagerly onto Jasper's orbs of pink glass. His guide blinked his wooden lids and mewled. "I don't know; I'm just a boat!"

Ah. John was doomed.

* * *

Author's note: I have returned! Comic-Con was glorious, but now I am back and my creative juices are flowing quite squishily.

That gravestone does fuck all in the real game. It'll be important here.

The climate of the Great Sea is Mediterranean this far north, so winters are cloudy but unusually green sense most of the precipitation is water rather than snow. It snows in Chosen, Labrynna, and Holodrum though.

Dead Hands do not appear in Wind Waker, the jail is something you're supposed to be able to do in like, a minute. The creature was frankensteined out of the bodies of the dead prisoners, both troll and human, by whom we may never know. We may also never know the identity (Kankri) of the man who hired them, or why (he's not useless in this world because he actually has a cause to champion). Oh look, John's hearing voices again.

I figured out around the time I was writing the first chapter that fusion should just be about taking X characters into Y setting just because they're similar. It's the little differences that make a story, the contrast between what main character X would do versus what character Y actually did. I've wanted to novelize Wind Waker since I first played the game, and even composed the first few pages of an epic poem back in sixth grade (I'm reasonably sure it was utter trash), but there's no point in telling the same story twice. I'm going to fuck with it. Fear not, you'll know when we've fallen off the rails. We've just sort of stuttered here and there so far.

John is a bit more insecure than in canon. This is because his only yardstick for success has been the Strider family. That'd be bad for anyone's self esteem, and we're lucky he's taking it so well.


	8. Upwards Avalanche

There was very little to do on Dragonroost Island, at least the parts of it that were sea-level. Since most of it was vertical, the only place for the kids to go was up. A path cut into the side of the mountain wound upwards into a tunnel. Passing through it, the pair found a splendid view of the great sea, but looking up, they could see a maze of scaffolding and artificial caves. It seemed the trolls had, in fact, built piers and harbors, but ones that led out into the air. No enemy would ever be able to land easily on this isolated pillar of stone. And even if they did, the trolls were no strangers to warfare.

Another booming roar shook the air, the mountain itself. A splintering sound issued from one of the flying piers. John and Roxy looked at each other, and hurried up the path.

* * *

The trollish city was dominated by an enormous, egg-shaped chamber, a natural bubble in the volcanic rock that had been expanded and connected to other tunnels until it served as a great central hub. The space was full of movement, and the fact that trolls were fully capable of travel in three dimensions made it all the more frantic. John and Roxy spent some time just trying to take it all in and simply get oriented. The trolls, for all their seclusion, simply ignored them for the most part. As soon as the kids decided to go and ask someone for directions, who should appear but Karkat?

He swooped down from the ceiling, spots of red in his eyes and an angry crimson teardrop scar on his cheek, and hugged John tightly. "Egbert you stupid, wonderful kid!" he shouted, shaking John profusely. "I had to tell your Nana that you were killed and here you suddenly turn up with—"

Karkat looked at Roxy, who smiled and waved politely. "WITH A GIRL! Oh Nayru, you finally became a man too!" He straightened up and composed himself. "Have you eaten? How'd you even get here? Whatever, you can tell me on the way back to Outset—"

"Karkat it's nice to see you too," said John, "But we're not going back to Outset. We're going to get the pearl!"

"What pearl—" Karkat's eyes bulged out of his head as he suddenly understood what John was talking about. "You think you can just waltz in here and take Din's Pearl? Firstly, 'oh shit Karkat, what happened to your face?' Well your Nana only branded me with the rusty spoon instead of murdering me like I'd thought, thanks for asking. Secondly, you'd have to talk to the Empress about the Pearl and if she doesn't have you fed Pyralsprite you would consider yourself lucky. It'd be a goddamned miracle if she even let you _see_ the Pearl, much less take it! And you think she'll just want to see any random country bumpkin visitors that wash up on her island? Especially a pair of stupid looking kids? You're out of your fucking mind—"

"Hey Karkat," a voice called from above, "Who's that? Visitors? _Kids_! I want to see them!" And with that, the troll they'd seen leaping out of the water careened down from the ceiling, golden trident in hand, huge grin revealing shark-like teeth. She squealed with delight. "They're adorable!" she said, pinching John's cheek. She saw Roxy and gasped. "This one's even cuter!" she said, ruffling her hair. Both of them were too stunned to properly react. "I love kids," she said. "I love going into the brooding caverns and picking out the runty wigglers and nursing them to health. They grow up so nice and grateful!" She turned and pinched Karkat on his unscarred cheek. "Like you Karkat! Big sweetie!"

"Your majesty," he said, turning bright red, "Stop embarrassing me in front of the other species."

The Empress giggled. "Stop with that majesty garbage; you call me Feferi. _Right now_." She turned to the kids and smiled, taking care to show less teeth this time. "Poor Karkrab here was so sickly that none of the lusii wanted him. All the grownups had to take turns raising him, because he was the _meanest_ little wiggler! And now he's the meanest troll." She winked. "Or so he claims! So, what can I do for you?"

Well she seems nice enough, John thought. Maybe we can—

"Can we have Din's Pearl, your Majesty?" asked Roxy, flashing a winning smile and fluttering her eyelashes.

Feferi stood up straighter, a pensive look on her face as she rubbed her chin. "Well, I can certainly let you see it," she said tentatively, "but actually taking it? You'd have to ask the Prince."

"Um, excuse me," said John, "but I thought you guys didn't have kids, or at least not in the same way as humans? And that there weren't any male royalty ever?"

Feferi laughed it off. "It doesn't mean quite the same thing in our language," she said. "The Prince's ancestral line has been charged with the Pearl since the beginning of our civilization." She leaned in, bending slightly to look John in the eye. "He is the spiritual center of our people just as I am the political center. The Prince is our connection to the Creatrices, our source of Hope. Go and see him! I give you my permission." She sighed deeply. "Our current Prince is young, as young as you are, but he's not quite so well behaved, and he's been very troubled lately. See if you can talk a little sense into him, eh?"

"What exactly is his problem, uh, ma'am?" said John, wishing he knew how to behave in front of an Empress, even as friendly and matronly an Empress as this one.

She sniffed angrily, her first display of purely negative emotion. "He's of age to go and visit Pyralsprite on His roost, but the Prince refuses. If he doesn't do it, he'll never have his wings and he'll never be able to properly be a troll. Forget about the connection to our God or the political ramifications; how's he even going _to get around_ for Din's sake!?" She tapped the floor with her trident, and the ground cracked underneath. "Without receiving a scale from Pyralsprite," she explained in a much calmer, almost defeated tone, "he can't grow his wings. Every one of us has to do it, or we'd die out!"

John nodded his head slowly. "Okay, we'll talk to the Prince for you."

"Oh, one more thing," said Roxy. "Can I have your autograph?"

* * *

A few minutes later John and Roxy were striding down a long, dim corridor leading deep into the mountain. Even though they knew objectively that they were far above the water, the sense of weight above them made them feel as if they were miles underground. "The Empress was, uh, surprisingly nice," said John, trying to make conversation in the gloom.

Roxy was grinning at her piece of paper, proclaiming in big, loudly pink letters "H.I.C. Feferi Peixes, Third of that Name, by the Grace of Din and of Pyralsprite, Empress of all Trolls and Queen of Dragonroost, _fidei defensatrix_, etc.," followed by a smiley face. She nodded enthusiastically. "Let's hope the Prince is cool too!"

"Aren't we, uh, supposed to talk some sense into him?" John asked. He was admittedly a bit off balance after having met the last bit of royalty in the world. And now he was going to meet a 'spiritual leader'. The end of the corridor had an odd door woven from thrushes and reeds, shaped vaguely like a bird's face, heavily stylized. John knocked. There was a muttered 'come in', and John and Roxy went inside.

The Prince was a young troll, as promised, with fins and gills on his face just like the Empress. His horns were sharp and crooked, shaped like thunderbolts. He had a big violet cloak with a high collar wrapped around him tightly, like a blanket. A huge white seahorse with manic eyes was resting its head on his lap, and snorted at the new-comers. Its coiled tail unwrapped for a second and thumped on the floor, then coiled again. The Prince was just as young as they, if not younger, and lacked the wings that were so characteristic of his people. John had never seen a young troll before, and noted some other, smaller differences. His eyes, obscured as they were behind thick glasses, were grey, completely lacking the usual bright colors. His skin was much lighter than an adult trolls' as well, and there were probably other differences, but more importantly was the enormous jewel that the Prince was hugging to his chest as if it were a stuffed bear.

Din's Pearl was perfectly spherical and glowed with a deep, inner light, serving to illuminate the chamber in the place of torches or candles. Cradled as it was in the Prince's arms, he cast a long shadow. The Pearl was burnt orange in color tinged with bright red, and had a dark red imperfection on the side facing John that remarkably enough resembled some obscure pattern, like a stylized wind blowing across the ball, or a rippling banner with three bars. It was beautiful, and John knew that he was looking at something truly priceless for the first time in his life.

"What do you want?" the Prince spat. His teeth were just as sharp as the Empress's, but seemed the wrong shape for his mouth; he slurred his words and stuttered just slightly on the 'w'.

"My name's John Egbert, your Grace," said John, bowing slightly from the waist.

"And I am Roxanne Lalonde," said Roxy, exhibiting a perfect curtsy, rolling her 'r' elegantly. John raised an eyebrow; something about that seemed off but there wasn't any time to think about it now.

"That doesn't explain anything," the Prince snapped.

"Forgiveness, your Grace," Roxy said smoothly. "We're here to collect the Pearl. The time has come for it to be used." John's eyebrow climbed a bit higher on his forehead.

The prince scoffed. "At least you're not here to try to talk me into goin' up there," he pointed vaguely upwards. "I mean, I know I have to do it someday. But for the love of Din, why all this pressure _now_, when Pyralsprite is goin' fuckin' insane?!" As if to punctuate his remark, the mountain shook and rang like a great stone bell. Streams of dust fell from the ceiling. The Prince clenched his teeth so hard that a little trickle of violet dripped down his chin. John however, couldn't help but chuckle. Here was Roxy putting on airs to talk to royalty, while the Prince did his absolute best to sound like any street urchin.

"Don't laugh at me!" he snapped. "It's not like you have to go up there! Look that _thing_ in the eyes and ask Him for a piece of Himself! And it's not like she ever did it either, not like this! Not while He's tryin' to bring the whole mountain down on top of us!" The Prince shook his head vigorously, trembling with anger now. "Let me tell you what," he said, "You go on up there! Yeah, you with your fragile Hylian bodies; if _you_ can pull it off then I know there's nothin' for _me_ to fear. I'll admit I'm bein' a wiggler then and I'll march on up with my head held high!" He held up the Pearl with one hand. "And I'll give you this too. And that's the only way you'll ever get to touch it, that's for sure." He pointed out the door. "Now get out." The seahorse burbled menacingly.

* * *

"Well that was a disaster," said John as they walked out the door. "I don't think that guy has his head on straight. Like he's liable to snap and go on a killing spree if someone doesn't give him a good ass-kicking to teach him that other people matter."

Roxy nodded. "It's too bad too. He's probably a nice guy under all the bullshit. He just deals with his problems in the worst way possible. I don't even want his autograph. Yet."

As they emerged from the tunnel, they were greeted by another young troll, though her wings were fully visible; light red tinged with pink in the shape of a monarch butterfly's. She had a bright smile with refreshingly human teeth, and might have been human in appearance if not for her long, deep red eyelashes and the horns that curled almost all the way around like a ram's, emerging from appropriately shaggy head of black hair. "Wow," she said, looking intently at John, "you really do wear a bright blue sock on your head!"

John pulled on his hood self-consciously. "It's not a sock," he muttered, ears drooping. "And I wouldn't even call this color 'bright'."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Roxy defensively, stepping in front of John, ears lying flat in hostility.

"Oh, Karkat told me a little about you," said the troll with a dismissive gesture. "You're John Egbert and you went on an adventure to rescue your…sister?" She cocked her head to the side, dense locks of hair bouncing. "I guess that's sort of like a mandatory Moirail for life? We thought you were dead, but you're clearly not! Let me guess, Eridan told you to go climb the mountain for him?"

"Does he do that to everybody?" John asked.

The girl laughed. "No, just me. I _was_ going to do it, but he's right about one thing, actually." The mountain rang again, louder than before. A few small rocks tumbled down from the ceiling along with the streams of dust. "It's way too dangerous. The Empress is wonderful and progressive, but progress takes a long time and she still doesn't _quite_ understand when something might be too much."

She took a step forward and John felt himself shrinking back a bit. "Don't tell anyone this," she said, "because the Empress and I are the only ones who know, but Pyralsprite is holding his handmaid captive. The Empress thinks He might even have eaten her by now but I don't think so," she didn't seem particularly concerned. In fact, her smile widened. "I'm her apprentice, and now it's my duty to go and rescue her, and calm Him down if she's not alive. I think we can help each other!" She extended a hand. "My name's Aradia Megido by the way. What do you say?"

"Um," said John. There was something unnerving about the girl, to be sure, but come to think of it all the trolls here were somewhat odd. Maybe Karkat and the other mailmen were just more used to humans and suchlike. "Well, I don't know—"

"You can't get up there without me," she said, expression becoming quite a bit more serious. "The Empress let you see the Pearl and that's one thing, but going to see Pyralsprite is another thing entirely. The only way up the mountain without wings is from the inside, and outsiders aren't allowed in there at all! I know a secret way in, and I know my way through the caverns. You _need_ me."

"But why do you need us?" asked Roxy, squinting appraisingly at the troll. "You can just fly up there, can't you? What's in it for you?"

Aradia grinned and flapped her wings. They rippled and swayed arrhythmically, rather than the strong, steady fluttering beat that John had grown accustomed to seeing on trolls. "It takes a while for the wings to grow in properly," Aradia explained. "And it's taking me longer than it should. I can't fly up there any more than you can, and it's too dangerous for either of us to go alone!"

John looked at Roxy. She frowned slightly, but shrugged. It was all up to him. Aradia's eager grin had not faded, but there was a strong sense of manic determination burning behind her eyes. John took a deep breath and extended his hand. "Okay!" he said, shaking Aradia's hand. She shook it enthusiastically, squeezing John's hand so hard the bones ached. John felt, once again, the approval of some invisible presence. Maybe there really was some higher power on his side.

"This is great," she said. Whispering, she added, "You won't regret it. Meet me by the spring in one hour, okay?"

* * *

High above, the angry grey sky surged and swirled like the ocean in a storm. The wind howled over the top of the little circular valley, likely as not a crater from an ancient eruption; the whole thing was like a gigantic stone flute, and the sound fluctuated from a deep, surging roar to a high keening cry that hurt the children's sensitive Hylian ears. There was a deluge not of water, but ashes and embers that settled on the ground like snowflakes, sizzling for a second and the fizzling out. The ground below their feet was ruddy-brown and cracked, with occasional spots of colored dust. To John's right was a sickly grey looking puddle of steaming water, an enormous pillar of rock rising up out of its center. It smelled vaguely of sulfur and minerals. This was the spring, or rather where the spring came up to the surface. The trolls siphoned hot water right out of the ground through a complex series of pipes and pumps; the fact that Pyralsprite's fury had stopped up the spring's only natural outlet had not impeded them much.

Aradia was running late, and John and Roxy were bored. There were no interesting shops in the troll city, surprisingly enough, and they'd merely had to ask directions to get here. The entrance was a carved doorway on a ledge ten feet above them with a ladder down to the valley floor, and it seemed there had once been a bridge to another ledge directly across from it. Other than the spring itself, now blocked off, there was little of interest in the valley. Brightly colored plants grew around the edge of the spring, John noticed; neon green leaves tipped with brightest red, huge, succulent looking fruit, luminescent blue, ringed with tiny white flowers, grew in the center of each plant.

"Those look kind of tasty," said Roxy, eyeing the fruits greedily.

"Do you want me to cut some for us?" John asked. He stood up, stretching, and produced a pocket knife before Roxy could even voice her emphatic 'yes'. He approached, knife in hand, and selected the fattest, juiciest looking fruit. John bent down, raised the knife, and—

There was a resounding crack as something sinuous and metallic smacked the knife out of his hand. John turned and saw Aradia, looking both terrified and exhilarated. She was now wearing a baggy red outfit under a brown leather coat and a wide-brimmed hat, and was holding a bullwhip woven out of steel cables, currently spanning the distance between herself and John. "I just saved your life," she said. "Awesome!"

John pointed at the glistening fruits. "So, I take it these are poisonous?" he asked.

Aradia shook her head. "They're explosive!"

"Bullshit," Roxy accused, "that'd be pretty neat though. But sadly impossible in this world of talking boats and flying people with candy-horns."

Aradia unconsciously touched one of her horns, looking sad. "They're not candy. They taste like sulfur." She assumed a more authoritative stance. "John, move out of the way," she said, pulling hard on the whip. John ran back over to Roxy as Aradia brought the weapon crashing down onto the fruit. It seemed to flash white for a second before blossoming into fireball as wide around as John was tall. An instant later, the other three nearby fruits likewise erupted into a fiery holocaust. When the smoke cleared, the stone pillar in the center of the pool was considerably thinner and covered in scorch marks. A stiff gale managed to blow itself into the little valley just then, buffeting the kids, spraying droplets of warm water into the air, and knocking over the stone. A huge gout of steaming grey water burst into the air, pressure having been building up for weeks now, and the pool quickly began to expand.

Roxy whooped with joy and clapped. John rubbed his chin. "How high did the water level used to be?" he asked.

"A few inches below the bridge," said Aradia. "It's not really a problem though, we can just walk back to the door."

"That's true," said John, "but people are going to get suspicious, aren't they?"

She nodded. "I have a plan."

* * *

A few minutes later John was standing on top of an unstable pile of rubble holding Aradia above his head. She was crouching on his shoulders with her knees next to his ears and had her arms forward and wings outstretched. "I strongly disapprove of what I'm seeing here," said Roxy. John's face burned as she shifted slightly and her legs pressed into the sides of his head.

"When the wind picks up," Aradia said, ignoring her or perhaps simply not caring, "throw me!" At that moment the gale caught her wings and nearly wrenched her out of John's grasp. Aradia shouted "go!" and John threw her. She gave a few unsteady beats to gain a smidgen of height and settled into a clumsy glide. She was a third of the way there when the wind shifted and slammed her into the side of the valley headfirst with a nasty crack.

John and Roxy rushed down off the ledge, splashing across the valley floor, now ankle deep with water. John noted the splashes of dark red blood on the wall as they reached Aradia. "Look at all the pretty stars," she said, snickering as she pointed to some space right in front of her face. She made a swiping motion. "Why can't I grab you? Cheep cheep…." Aradia turned her head and John saw that she'd broken two inches off her horn and the stump was bleeding. It was only a trickle compared to ugly gash just above her ear.

"Roxy, do something!" John said.

"Er," she muttered. "Like what?"

"You healed me right?" John asked. "I remember you saying that you did, you used your magic on me! Fix her!"

"Okay," said Roxy, sitting down cross-legged. She cleared her throat. "I neglected to mention that I couldn't get it to work for a whole day. Healing isn't really my thing." But she sat, concentrating. The wind roared and whistled. The lukewarm water rose. The geyser steamed. Embers fell into the rising pool, then sizzled and disappeared into nothingness. The shadows lengthened, stretching out like crooked fingers towards Roxy. Subtly, imperceptibly, she redirected them, and the shadows wrapped themselves around Aradia. She giggled, reaching for one, falling still as soon as she touched it.

John was feeling apprehensive. This was how Roxy had allegedly saved his life? Aradia looked more dead now then alive. But he found that he trusted Roxy a great deal. She wouldn't try to hurt someone without cause or lead them astray. The look on her face was something like someone trying to solve a very difficult puzzle, and then there was a slight twitch of her lip as the last piece clicked into place and the shadows burst apart into a cascade of colored squares and returned to their proper places.

Aradia sat up and looked around, confused. "Why am I all wet?" She asked, splashing the spring water with her hands. She then touched her face, experimentally, patting around for something. She touched the base of her broken horn and nervously followed the spiral of it with her fingers until she found the rough break. It was no longer jagged, as if smoothed with age. She screamed.

* * *

A little while later once Aradia had calmed down, the three of them were preparing once again to throw Aradia. The water was not quite knee-deep, yet. "Let's just wait and swim across," said Roxy, sounding apprehensive. "I don't want Rae-Rae to get hurt again."

John chuckled. "Is that what we're calling her? Also, you like her now?"

"uh-huh!" she said nonchalantly.

"I can do it!" Aradia said, fluttering her winds indignantly. "I swear! The winds seem random, but there's a pattern. We just need to go at the exact time they start blowing in the right direction and I'll make it across." She seemed so certain that John was likely to believe her, but an idea suddenly struck.

He drew the Breath Waker. "Okay thing," he said to it, "I know a little bit about music. Conducting the wind shouldn't be too hard." He raised it high, point down, holding the hilt not like a dagger but like a pencil.

Aradia leaned towards Roxy. She and John were standing on their pile of rubble, but Roxy was standing in the water, as there was no room left on top of the crude platform, so Aradia was bent almost double and her hair got in Roxy's eyes. "Do you think John might be crazy? He's talking to a stick."

Roxy brushed Aradia's hair out of her face, expression first annoyed and then delighted. "OMDNF, your hair feels like a sheep! That's adorbs! But no, John's got a _magic stick_. Wow, that sounded dirty," she snickered.

John tried to ignore the two girls laughing about him. Dear gods, he'd gone from not knowing any girls his age to traveling with two of them, and they were both very pretty and didn't seem to know about personal space and now they were talking about him—breathe. Conduct. Play the wind.

A few brief passes. In his head, it sounded like a simple, sad tune, the beginning of a requiem. The sounds progressed from high, to medium, to low. He imagined a chorus of altos and tenors following along, and he could swear he actually heard them, voices carried on the wind. There was a feeling of uncertainty in the air, as if he'd started doing what he was supposed to, but not finished. He jabbed the Breath Waker at the far ledge as if it were a sword, and was nearly blown off the pillar by the resultant gale.

John laughed at his success. "See, Aradia," he said, turning to the girl, "it really _is_ a—"

Aradia was not there standing next to him. Instead, there was a huge, fat blue-green frog with a curling flange on his head, sitting on an acid green cloud. "That's a mighty fine wind you've got there," he said, voice high and aristocratic, not at all what John would have expected coming from a frog. "The finest I've seen a human make in ages. Well, done, Breath Waker!"

"Um," said John, looking at the silvery-blue tool in his hand. "This thing is a breath waker, I'm—"

"Oh, it's all one," said the frog, gesturing dismissively with a huge, webbed hand. "The wielder of a breath waker is a Breath Waker himself. It is your instrument _and_ your office." There was a high whistling noise in John's ears and suddenly the frog was behind him.

"Where are my manners?" asked the frog. "I am Zephos, god of the wind. Charmed, I'm sure." John could only nod in agreeance. "I suppose I'm here to give my blessing on your first successful Breath Waking," he said, looking off into the distance, which was not actually quite far. "The power you wield is a great one child, make no mistake. The wind can be a good thing or a very bad thing, based on how it's used. You want an example of it being a bad thing, ask my brother."

The wind whistled again and Zephos was suddenly floating behind John. "Cyclos, the storm god, that is. He's a bit miffed that the people don't worship him anymore, at least not as much as me. But well, things tend to change. Before the cataclysm, he brought life-giving rains at the end of the dry season, and flooded the Zora River to fertilize the fields. Now all he does is sink ships and kill fish." The wind whistled. John was read this time and turned around, but there was nothing there. A throat cleared itself.

John looked up and saw the bulbous, emerald eyes of the god-frog staring down at him, hanging upside-down from his cloud. John yelped and fell off the rubble pile, landing in water high enough to float in. Zephos continued. "Next time you see my brother," he said, whispering jocularly, "chastise him for me, eh? He'll be sitting in the eye of the hurricane and laughing like a lunatic, hurling thunderbolts like some menstrual prima donna. Ciao!" And with a veritable explosion of wind, tinted with emerald light, the frog, Zephos, flew off into the sky, cutting a temporary swath through the clouds and letting the sun and the blue sky shine in. His laughter echoed in the little valley.

"Whoa," said Roxy, looking up at the gash of azure. "Did you do that?"

Aradia smiled to herself. "It was so strong it knocked him off his feet!"

"Yes," John said tentatively, "that's exactly what happened. Now help me up!" He decided that divine visitations no one else remembered were either meant for him alone or a sign that he was going crazy. Both were good reasons not to mention anything.

* * *

Author's Note:

There's nobody who doesn't love Aradia. Even people who hate Aradia love Aradia. Fuck you. *sigh* Now that there's two female protagonists interacting with each other I have to worry about the Bechdel test. I'll make them talk about basketball or something.

I recall having a billion things to say. I suppose you can ask me questions. Do it. Ask me questions. I fucking dare you.

'Why'd this take so long?' Look at my profile. Look at all the on-going fics I'm working on. If I update a different one each week, it will take a month to get them all. Luckily I update a smidge faster than that.

Why am I so angry? I'm actually quite happy, who knows why my notes are so surly today.

Eridan. I usually write him pre-going fucking nuts, but this time I wanted him just there at the breaking point, at his whiniest, and not quite dangerous. Those of you who've played WW of course will know he's going to be fixed instead of going on a killing spree. OR WILL HE?

The trolls' ages are pretty variable in this story. Eridan is actually younger than John whereas Feferi has been Empress longer than John has been alive. Karkat's about twentyish.

*Ahem* Aradia joined your party! Middle range fighter. Her whip can strike multiple targets, but is a very slow weapon otherwise. She has limited flight capabilities, and being a troll, is generally tougher than Hylians. She is a TECHNICAL PACIFIST and will generally not finish off opponents, MAIMING them instead. Hearts: 4. Magic: 5. Is subject to BERSERKER RAGE. She enjoys PUDDING.


	9. Updrafts

Once safely on the ledge and un-concussed, Aradia lowered her whip and the other two climbed up it. Squeezing through a narrow crack in the wall, they found themselves in an area open to the sky and the elements, but labyrinthine with high, jagged stones. "This way!" she said, running off ahead.

The way was not dangerous, but certainly circuitous. From her body language, Aradia clearly knew where she was going, but the _path_ seemed not to, and John quickly stopped bothering trying to remember the way. Once, they had to turn back, having encountered a massive, pearly-white, insectoid creature with moth's wings, horns, and perfect pouty lips. It looked at them with something like stern, motherly disapproval, and began scraping its pointed, spear-like feet on the ground like a bull, lowering its bulbous head. Aradia, smiling nervously, said, "Back up, don't act disrespectful, definitely don't run or try to fly."

"We can't fly—" John began to say, before Aradia covered his mouth with an audible pop. "Well then don't try it anyway," she said, about as snappishly as John imagined she could say anything.

They finally backed their way around a corner, and Aradia led them as quickly as possible without running through a highly roundabout route until John was more lost than he'd been previously. "The mother grubs are let out every few days," she explained, red-faced from tense exertion, "to get exercise. They're not used to anyone except the Dolorosas—"

"When you say mother grubs…" Roxy began, and then trailed off, not entirely sure if she wanted to know.

Aradia smiled radiantly. "That grub might have actually been my mom! I mean, the one that laid my egg at least. Who knows? It's exciting isn't it?" she said. Seeming to draw strength from the thought, she fairly bounced away down the path. The Hylians looked at each other, shrugged, and followed. "But hey," she said, calling from up ahead, "if you see a bright white glow, like a star walking around on Earth, and _especially_ if it's woman-shaped, _run_."

* * *

Only once, and that from a great height, did they see a member of the ascetic order that tended the mother grubs. As the three sidled along the edge of the stony labyrinth, a stately figure in black and green robes ushered three of the huge creatures into a cave with a wave of something like a shepherd's crook. The shepherdess had her hood drawn down over her face, and brilliant white light spilled from inside, as well as from her voluminous sleeves. Her wings were huge, velvety black and neon-green, gently folding and opening in idleness. Aradia looked terrified, but led them on all the same.

Eventually, they reached a cave entrance. It was so dark inside that it seemed like a solid barrier of black between the intestines of Dragonroost and the world of light. "Normally we'd go through a big entryway near where that Dolorosa was," she explained. "Carved dragons and depictions of the famous ancestors, a blessing from the Prince, a funeral dirge in case you don't come back," her smile widened. "It's a really beautiful ceremony!" She stepped through the cavern mouth and disappeared from view, the slightest gleam of light shining off her smile before it disappeared, just a fraction of a second after the rest of her. "Come on!"

John and Roxy stepped through, and were immediately blinded as Aradia lit a torch. She laughed at them, staggering in the gloom. "Okay, that was a decent prank," said John, raising a finger as he rubbed the stars out of his eyes, "but your buildup was lacking. And you didn't even get off a one-liner! You could have waited for us to ask for a light, _then_ sparked the torch really nearby. The surprise factor wouldn't have been as high I'll grant you that, but it would have been more timely and therefore funnier. I guess I'll rank this prankster's gambit something like—"

Roxy meanwhile, was bent double with laughter. "Oh wow, you really got us! That was good! I'm gonna get you back though Rae-Rae, you'll see!"

"I can't wait!" exclaimed Aradia.

John frowned, irked that his sagely expertise on pranking and its subtle nuances was being ignored. He took the time to look around the chamber. It was fairly small, but there was a lot to see. Ancient pottery along the far walls, cave paintings depicting an enormous serpent snaking across the walls and ceiling, painted in deep red and tinged with blue, mad spiraling eyes wreaking havoc on scurrying figures. They lacked wings and horns, but were too oddly shaped to be human, he thought. What's more, they were painted dull ochre. He spied little painted flowers that must have been the bomb plants from earlier, but like everything else, they were done in blue and red and ochre. This painting depicted a world without green.

Against the far wall were sitting a trio of ancient statues, squat toadlike figures with huge lips and beady little eyes, round bellies like drums and spikes rising from their heads and backs like horned lizards. It was odd. The trolls were the oldest recorded civilization, next to mythical Hyrule, but the people who'd painted this cavern and built the statues seemed even older than either of those. And yet, John had never heard of anything like this.

Aradia noticed him looking and sidled up to John without him noticing. "The stone-men carved the tunnels," she said, a little louder than her usual tone, spooking him out of his contemplation, "by eating away at the rocks. Their shovel-like nails could scoop through the stuff like softest mud, and they washed it down with hot lava. The whole city is just what they didn't bother eating," she finished, nodding smartly.

John chuckled. "Yeah sure," he said. "Let me tell you about the Great Fairy on Outset Island while we're telling tall tales." Aradia laughed.

"Well," she said, "they may or may not have been real, but they definitely had secrets." She pressed her shoulder against one of the stone-men and with surprising strength considering her size but not her species, shoved it off to the side. Behind it was a carved slot, presumably where a stone block would have been placed during a construction.

"Found this place when my time came to climb the mountain," said Aradia, sounding very self-satisfied. "Everyone thought I'd died because I spent a couple of days exploring the ruins instead of, well, my rite of passage."

The kids crawled through the opening while Aradia told them about the pottery in the previous room; "it's in the same style as trollish pottery from the third century but carved from stone and _painted_ instead of fired and enameled and it seems this culture didn't have the means of producing the color green because I have found no green artifacts and all depictions of plant life are blue for some reason and I was only joking a little bit when I said they ate rocks because judging from other cave paintings I found at base camp 04—" eventually stepping into a much larger cavern where the stone was oddly terraced, as if layered by the cooled magma of several different eruptions, each flow having stopped at different times. But this room was lit by big, bright braziers at the corners. It had been used recently.

No, the room was being used right now, by a pair of green-skinned Bokoblins, one armed with a Bokowood torch and the other with a machete and shield, standing guard over a door at the topmost tier of hardened magma. John immediately drew his hammer and shield while Roxy produced a pair of knives. Aradia however, rushed forward and made a polite bow. "Hi," she said, "I'm Aradia Megido. Bokoblins eh? That makes us distant cousins!" She extended her hand. "Pleased to meet you!"

The Bokoblins were so stunned that it took them a full minute to react. The one on the left bent towards Aradia and screamed in her face, that high pitched warbling screech echoing painfully in the small chamber. He immediately cut off as a half-dozen knives sprouted from his chest. His partner turned to run, and almost made it to the door, only to be brained by John's hammer. "Aradia, what the hell?" he said, turning around to face her.

"I'm sorry," said Aradia, "I thought I might be able to talk our way through this. I don't really like fighting," she said with an embarrassed grin. John's jaw dropped. She snickered. "I know, I know, you got saddled with the only pacifist on the island!"

Roxy rolled over the first corpse to retrieve her knives. "You can't really…reason with Bokoblins sweetie," she explained as she plucked them out of the cadaver's chest.

Aradia sighed. "I know, but you always have to _try_." She spread her arms. "Who knows? Maybe one day I'll meet a monster who's willing to listen." She twirled around in a slow circle, the hems of her coat and loose red top flapping around her. "Anyway, welcome to base camp 01! I set it up during my first trip up the mountain." John noted that the chamber featured a single tent and a fairly new cookpot as well as several wooden structures that had clearly been built within the last few years; the braziers, some railings over the higher ledges, wooden supports for the ceiling. Aradia walked into the tent and came back with three canteens. "Drink up," she said, "there's plenty more. The Bokoblins must have just gotten here. Once you're ready I'll get you some fresh ones and we'll move on."

John took a sip and sealed it back up. "No seriously," Aradia said warningly, "things are about to get really hot. You want to finish that." John felt a sense of impending dread and did as asked.

The three of them walked up to the door. It was made of a solid sheet of metal and seemed to radiate heat. There were no knobs, handles, or hinges visible. "How do we get through?" asked Roxy. "How does this thing even work?"

"I'm not sure how it works," said Aradia. "The only time I tried to take one apart I caused a huge cave-in. But you can open them like this," and she gave it a deft, unceremonious kick. It slid upwards with surprisingly swift and easy movement. John decided there and then to stop being impressed with ancient technology, because he was probably going to see a lot of it.

That was an instant before the wave of blazing heat smashed into him like a hammer as the cavern filled with an ominous orange glow. Shielding their eyes, the kids made their way into the next chamber. It was massive; the problem was the lack of ground that wasn't molten. Standing on a narrow ledge, they could look across a cavern that was as wide as the entirety of Dragonroost. Far below, a sea of magma bubbles with blazing heat, almost too bright to look at. "There are some great updrafts here," said Aradia, looking down into the blaze. "I could probably glide all the way to the top," she trailed off, sounding very hesitant. "Probably." Otherwise it was great spiraling path across narrow ledges to yet another door set in a recess that someone, somehow, and for some reason, had taken the time and effort to carve into the shape of a massive demon's face, stalactites and stalagmites reshaped into hideous tusks.

"Why would they do that?" asked Roxy, scratching her chin. "Who would even see it in here? What would they need to scare people away from?"

Aradia shrugged, wooly curls bouncing. "I don't know why, but I know what's in there. It's a volcanic sill!"

Roxy nodded her head as if she understood, and then spoke, tone irritated and slightly menacing. "I hope we don't have the same problem with you as we have with our boat. He never explains things that would be useful to know."

Aradia bit her lower lip as she thought. "Okay," she said. "Pressure pushes the magma up through the throat of the volcano until the pressure is relieved. Sometimes it gathers in hollows in the rock, bubbles left by previous flows. That's called a sill." She pointed at the demon face. "There's a big sill inside the demon's mouth, and it's so hot I can barely stand it in there, but I've explored it a little. Base camp 05 is just behind the teeth, but I only used it once after setting it up. There's some kind of pagan shrine in there, probably built by the stone-men I told you about. I call it the forge," she finished, "because it's shaped kind of like a huge furnace."

Wordlessly, they trudged on along the gently spiraling path. Halfway up another recess in the wall hid a door leading off to who knew where, but they ignored it. The path grew steep with time, and narrowed to the point that they had to sidle. "Should we link arms in case someone falls," said Roxy, "or not, so they don't drag down the rest of us?" Aradia laughed. Roxy muttered something about being serious.

Eventually, they found a place where the path had crumbled away entirely. Someone had bridged it with some flimsy wooden boards, not even securing them to the floor. "I'm not crossing that," snapped John, stamping his foot. A bit of the brittle ledge crumbled and fell into the magma far below. "There's brave and there's stupid, and this is bum-fucking retarded," he declared authoritatively.

The girls laughed at him. "Look ahead Johnny," said Roxy. An enormous boulder had fallen onto the next ledge. The path was completely blocked off.

"This is such bullshit," John muttered, as he began the long, trudging path back.

* * *

Through the second door, John was pleased to find that it was significantly cooler. Aradia fumbled in her pocket for a second until she produced a playing card, the one of pentacles. She flicked it and it transformed into a lit torch. "How'd you do that?" John asked, looking around the new chamber. It was essentially a hallway, with a few large doorways that had been blocked off by wooden boards. At the far end was another metal sliding door.

"My brawlsoleum," Aradia muttered, seemingly concerned about something. "It's a…tomby-thing that turns into a deck of cards." She pointed at the boards. "Those weren't there before," she said, sounding happy at having figured out what was bothering her. "The Bokoblins sealed off the alcoves in here for some reason."

John immediately pulled out his own deck and dumped the cards out into his hand. Nearly all of them were blank except for three. He chose the two of stars and flicked it like Aradia had, spilling the sail all over cave floor. "How do I make it turn back?" he asked eagerly.

She snickered. "You get out your magical inventory and put it back inside." John frowned. That meant folding the damn thing up again.

While he was doing that, the girls went off into the corner and started muttering to themselves. He supposed this was a girlish thing, because he and Dave had never gone off and giggled in corners while Jade did something, that was for damn sure. Aradia looked up and focused her big eyes on him, smiling. John almost smiled back, but then she covered her mouth to restrain a high-pitched giggle. She turned back to Roxy and said something, and Roxy went as far as to laugh out loud. Were they…talking about him? John's ears drooped as his face burned and he wondered if someone had opened the goddamned door because of how hot it suddenly was.

* * *

"So basketball is played entirely on the ground?" Aradia asked.

Roxy laughed, ears pricking up. "Well duh, we don't have wings!" Aradia laughed at her own slip-up. Briefly, she looked over at John, checking up on his progress. Presumably his lack of experience with sailing is what was causing him trouble. She was about to say something encouraging when the image of trolls playing the game jumped into her mind. "Can you imagine Karkat playing," she said, whispering so as not to distract John, "and just flying from one end of the court to the other because he cares so little about the rules?" She snickered.

Roxy laughed. "That grumpy mailman? He'd probably drop the ball right through the hoop and argue that it counts as a dunk!" The two girls snickered.

John muttered something to himself and went on with his folding until he finally had the thing stowed away safely. "Stop gossiping or whatever and come on," he said, taking the lead. As he passed in front of one of the sealed doorways, there was a sound of smashing pottery an instant before the boards exploded outwards, a common Bokoblin leaping through the splinters with a murderous gleam on his machete.

The Bokoblin tackled John to the floor, crouching on his chest. He raised his blade dramatically, and probably would have killed John had Aradia's whip not come streaking through the air, flaying his sword arm open with a nasty crack. The Bokoblin shrieked and dropped the machete. John pushed off the monster and ran him through with his own weapon.

John found he didn't like the sensation. And odd thought to have, having killed a number of the creatures already, but the feeling of sliding in, the wet squishing sound, the feeling of flesh parting, the way the blade vibrated as the it scraped bone and tore through different textures of tissue, was so _brutal_. He watched the light go out in the monster's eyes. Sure, smashing its head in would have been just as painful and twice as ugly, but it would have been faster.

That's what he thought; what he said was "I thought you didn't like fighting."

"Doesn't mean I don't know how," said Aradia, coming to look pityingly on the corpse. "I hoped he would run away, tend to his wound, have a long hard thought about his life, and maybe start trying to communicate with people instead of trying to eat them." She sighed. "Maybe one day."

The machete made for an excellent skeleton key, in the sense that the heavy blade was well suited to smashing through the wooden boards blocking all the alcoves. Of course, the cheap metal was chipped and warped to uselessness by the time they'd finished. "The smith probably thought that folding the steel made it stronger," John sighed as he threw it off into the corner.

"It…doesn't?" said Roxy, eyes narrowed, ears perfectly horizontal.

John shook his head. "It takes out the carbon. It's how you turn shitty steel into good steel; by folding it just enough so it stops being a brittle mess and starts acting like metal. If you fold it too much though, it goes back to being iron. Really shitty iron too."

One of the newly liberated alcoves contained broken pottery, over which Aradia was very excited. The other contained a small chest with a heavy, silvery key. John slipped it into his pocket. "I was kind of hoping for rupees. Even gold would have been nice," he sighed.

Through the door at the end of the hall was something John had not at all expected. Cold. Wind. Sound. Dazzling blue. Dazzled by the new, or newly rediscovered sensations, he was unsure of what he was seeing for a moment until Roxy whooped with joy. "It felt like I'd been in that hole for_ever_!" Then it all clicked into place. They were outside.

John knew that they'd been going vaguely upward even when the ground seemed fairly flat, but this height was ridiculous. He took a step and then another, but stopped because a third step would take him over the edge, plunging down into the churning sapphirine waters below, from which rose jagged black rocks like Charybdis' teeth. Slowly turning his head upward, he looked for the horizon, and couldn't find it. Off in the distance, the sea and the sky blended together. The world was like a bubble. He wondered where the dark clouds were. Looking up, he found that they had either subsided slightly or had been much smaller than he'd thought. Maybe Pyralsprite had calmed down some; who could guess? There was probably a metaphor buried in here somewhere, John figured, or there would be if this were fiction and not real life. The wind whistled in John's ears, ruffling his hair like an old friend. John thought he'd be able to understand its whistling, if he took the time to decipher it. It could understand him, after all, when he played the Breath Waker.

To the left was a narrow stair wrapping its way around the mountain made of grey marble bars rammed into the stone somehow. "Did the trolls build it or was it your legendary rock eaters?" asked Roxy, half jokingly as she tested the first step with her foot. It supported her weight, but she couldn't be sure unless she stomped the shit out of it. She did so.

Aradia shook her head. "The stairs are non-native stone. The 'rock eaters' only ever made things out of local stone. I think these are probably trollish, but we may never know. Now move it!"

The stairs were not fun to climb. Marble is generally speaking very slick, even when it's been out in the elements for centuries, and not a particularly hard stone to begin with. The spacing was regular, but a bit too far. Not enough for them to slip between the steps, but certainly enough for a toe to get caught and cause a stumble. Roxy, bringing up the rear, nearly sent the three of them plummeting to their deaths after just such an event, and John nearly tore off Aradia's left wing while grabbing hold for dear life. "Asshole," she muttered, wrapping them around herself like a shroud, cheeriness temporarily gone.

At the top of the stairs was a rocky ledge, connected to another by a rope bridge in surprisingly good condition. Beyond that was the metallic gleam of the ancient metal doors that peppered the structure. Roxy was not afraid of heights, but she found herself relived to think that they'd be 'safely' inside soon, never mind that inside was the blazing throat of an active volcano.

Unfortunately, there was a ten foot gap between the original top of the stairs and the place where they ended now, the malleable stones having crumbled away to useless rounded stumps like rotted teeth sticking out of the side of the mountain. John looked down, once again seeing the rocks and the churning water below. They were much higher now than they'd been then. "Now what?" he asked, rubbing his chin. "I…guess I could jump it. How 'bout you Roxy?"

"If I could get a running start," she said, musingly. "But I really, really don't want to try running up these stairs is the thing. Maybe I could finagle my way along the wall with my not-ninja training."

Aradia didn't say anything, but she did straighten her hat, tilting it to a daring angle before pointing upward. John looked and saw a rusted metal bar with a stylized claw at the end that had been roughly jammed into the stone. "I don't get it," he said, or rather started to say before Aradia hooked him around the waist and pulled him close. His cheek was almost touching her cheek. Her hair really did feel like wool.

With a deft snap of her arm, her steel-cable whip wrapped itself around the metal bar. "Grab on Roxy!" she shouted. "This is my favorite part of mountain climbing!" Roxy eagerly complied, squealing with joy as they swung across the gap at what John felt was a stupidly dangerous speed.

Landing unsteadily on the other side, he let go of Aradia a smidge too quickly. "Am I that unpleasant to touch?" she asked, pouting exaggeratedly.

"Nah," said Roxy, slinking over to his other side. "He just doesn't want you to know his _true feelings_, so he got away from your smokin' body as quickly as possible instead of lingering like he really wants." She put her elbow on his shoulder and grinned evilly. "Isn't that right, Johnny?" she asked, wagging her eyebrows.

He twisted his way past the girls and stormed towards the bridge. "Roxy, you're fired. We're not on an adventure together anymore!"

"So it'll be just you and me?" Aradia asked, fluttering her crimson lashes.

"He's got that grey fever," said Roxy, her arms crossed, nodding smartly.

"Yeah!" Aradia agreed, "Grey fever!" She turned to Roxy and whispered, "What does that mean?"

John ignored them and made his way across the bridge. The girls hurried to catch up. The bridge swung steadily, rhythmically in the wind, not helped by the tromping steps of the tweens, and the ropes creaked disconcertingly as it moved, groaning like a dying old man. And then, at the halfway point, the kids heard a now familiar sound; the shrieking, howling call of a Bokoblin. He stood at the far end of the bridge, machete in hand. With a rude gesture, he swung his blade toward the supporting ropes.

Roxy's knife whizzed through the Bokoblin's ear, throwing off his aim just slightly so he struck a vertical rope and not a horizontal one. Next, Aradia's whip wrapped around his ankle and dragged the creature towards the kids. "Listen up," she said sternly once he was well within striking rnage, eyeing the blade still clutched in the creature's hands. "There's three of us and one of you. We have you on the floor of a suspension bridge thousands of feet above the ocean. There's a dozen ways for us to hurt or kill you without any harm coming to us, but the only way you can kill us kills you too. So just drop the weapon. We'll let you go past, and you'll let us go past, and we'll all get to live to see tomorrow." She flashed him her biggest, brightest smile.

The Bokoblin paused, as if considering. Then with an even more obscene gesture than before, he swung his machete through the horizontal ropes on the left side. The bridge bucked and then fell.

"You stupid asshole!" Aradia screamed as the weight of the laughing Bokoblin pulled her down. "You could have lived and now you're going to die because YOU CAN'T FLY!" She snapped the whip and the Bokoblin careened away from her into the side of the mountain, bouncing off with satisfying pop. Ugh. No, not satisfying at all. She hoped that one didn't come back to haunt her. He was such an _ass_.

There was a more than decent updraft now, not like the foehns that were coming off down the mountain on the western face, where Pyralsprite was facing and flinging his dragonly abues, so she should be able to make it back up. Aradia spread her wings, which rippled painfully, looking like loose fabric for a second before catching the wind and pushing her back up. Her handful of attendants watched her with hollow-eyed expressions almost tangentially resembling curiosity. The pale creatures really should just move on with their afterlives. A swarm of flies like a silvery cloud, a handful of fish swimming through the air as if it were water, a wild pig that hadn't accepted her peace offering, a palm tree she'd cut down, its roots and leaves shuddering like the tentacles of some obscene outer god. Not everything she'd ever killed, but a good portion. It was hard to imagine how much the deaths of other creatures were necessary for your own life. It put some things in perspective. Of course, not every ghost she saw was haunting her, specifically. John and Roxy had attendants of their own, with much more frightening visages. And there were dozens of fallen children who'd passed away on the path to their god. One of them, reliving his death, tumbled past her right then and there.

Something pink and blue whizzed past immediately after, following the exact same path and screaming "Rae-Rae!" A flick of her wrist and the whip was wrapped tight around Roxy's waist. The girl was a bit heavier than the Bokoblin, but Aradia had the wind under her wings now. A few good beats, and she was safely on the far side of the bridge, where the Bokoblin had popped up in the first place.

John shuffled his way over to the far ledge, hand over hand, thanking every god he knew that he hadn't drawn his hammer fighting the monster, because else he would have dropped the thing, and his Nana's shield into the bargain. The fact that he was dangling from a rope with only his fingers thousands of feet in the air only irritated him compared to the thought of losing those heirlooms. By the time he reached the far ledge, the girls were just touching down. John might have said something about how cool it would be to fly, but didn't want to get teased again.

Pyralsprite roared. The mountain shook. Cracks appeared in the ground and along the walls, and steam and black soot hissed out for just a moment. "Well shit," said John. "I really, really hope we can calm Pyralsprite down." The girls nodded, a little stunned. John stood up. "So, Aradia," he said, trying to shift things back into a more casual tone, "how did you make it to Pyralsprite with so many Bokoblins up here?"

Aradia shook her head wildly, and her wooly curls all but writhed. "They weren't here before. I'd never even seen one in real life until today." There was a Bokoblin's ghost haunting the main floor of the post office who looked more confused than evil, but that was beside the point.

Roxy rubbed her chin. "Hey John, didn't you say that the ones on your island were carried in by kargorocs?" she asked.

John nodded slowly. "You think that's what they're doing? Invading from the top down?"

Roxy shrugged. "It's pretty smart actually. Well, it would be if the Bokoblins weren't so damn dumb," she smirked. "But yeah, a downwards push is probably what they're going for."

The discussion over, the kids strolled over to the door and kicked it open, slipping once again into the warm darkness. The constant changes in temperature were probably going to get them all sick.

Aradia produced a torch one again, and once again the children examined the chamber they found themselves in. Against the far wall was a pyramid of carved stone blocks, atop of which was another hole cut in the cave wall. Off in the corner was a bedroll, a few crates, and a lamp. "Base camp 03!" she said proudly. "After this it's just a climb up another set of stairs and we'll be with Pyralsprite!"

"And then we'll have a whole other set of problems," said John. "What if we have to fight him?"

"I hope it doesn't come to that," said Roxy. "I don't think we can fight a crazy dragon-god right now." She whispered loudly, "Sounds just a tiny bit above our skill-level!" No one laughed, so she laughed for everyone.

The children rested a while, as much as they could when preparing for eminent death. It had only now, near the end of the arduous climb, dawned on them that reaching their destination was not a victory but would merely be the start of another trial.

This thought was quickly forgotten when Aradia offered her guests snacks, and, without waiting for a response, opened the tightly sealed food crate, and recoiled in horror when she saw the gelatinous red mass that had filled the entire space. A bulbous head-shape stretched out from the opening. Two spheres rose to the surface and emerged into the air as neon-green eyes. A large bubble popped, leaving behind a gash that served as a crude simulacrum of a mouth. "The fuck is this?" asked Roxy.

John readied his hammer, but then had an idea. What had Gamzee said about that pictobox? He summoned it from its card and snapped a picture. A brilliantly colored image of the creature rolled out of the bottom. The back read: "Red chuchu. Jelly has medicinal properties. Incredibly fragile." John nodded as if given instructions, and stared at the thing's derpy face. It looked as if it would be a slackjawed idiot if it were human. He chuckled, and smashed it with a hammer, splattering curative goop all over the small room and his friends.

"Is this revenge for the grey fever thing?" asked Roxy, who was trying very hard not to move and thereby spread the thing to other parts of her body. "Because I'm not sorry." The fur on her ears had puffed out like an irritated cat's.

Aradia stuck a finger in her mouth. "It tastes…spicy? Like cinnamon and nutmeg. I wouldn't have thought that."

"It's medicinal!" John said, glad to be the one who knew a thing for once.

"And a little cloying," said Aradia, smacking her lips. "Like bad honey."

John ignored her. "The magic pictobox that the sketchy clown we met in that dungeon says so!" He paused for a moment. "That…sounded saner in my head. Like, way saner."

"I think you're right," said Aradia. "It tastes almost exactly like red potion. We could probably just boil it down and make cheap, bootlegged medicine." She strode forward, producing some glass jars and scooping it in.

Roxy, meanwhile, had found Aradia's water supply, a huge blue jar. She lifted it over her head and dumped it all over herself, washing away the red slime.

* * *

A few minutes later, the trio was ascending the stairs. It was a considerable longer climb than the first one. Not only was the stairway longer, but the going was slower as the steps were in considerably worse condition. Here and there a step was broken in half or missing altogether, and other steps looked worn enough to crumble at any time. Eventually, the kids reached a stretch of steps that was solid enough to linger. And they decided to take a breather. John actually sat down, legs dangling over the edge, and the girls gasped.

He chuckled. "Didn't you climb down a sheer wall in the middle of the night, Roxy? And you can fly," he said, pointing at Aradia. "I'm just some guy, why are you two scared?" They waited some five minutes. Just when John was about to swing his legs back up and resume the ascent, he noticed a tiny white flower with five rounded petals growing out of the crack between the marble step and the volcanic wall. John smiled at the brave little plant, wondering how it could have gotten so high up. He considered plucking it, but decided against—

The mountain shook as Pyralsprite's booming roar, louder now than ever, more terrible than a thousand cannon blasts, but strangely musical, like a trumpet, filled his ears. The bent themselves down in pain as the air blurred and the mountain shook. There was a rhythmic pounding that they'd not heard before; Pyralsprite was stamping his feet wildly, as if in pain. There was an ugly series of cracks as the sound faded away.

John jumped back up to his feet, almost falling over backward but pushed back to stability by Roxy. "Run!" he said, taking off up the stairs. Roxy looked back over Aradia's shoulder and gasped. Aradia plunged a few feet as the stairs gave way under her before unfurling her wings. She drifted lazily along as her Hylian friends raced ahead of the crumbling staircase.

* * *

Author's note: No polyfandrous this isn't the trollish cliff-hanger I told you I was plotting, that's next chapter. Which should be up fairly soon, as I'm trying to complete this story arc before moving onto something else (what do you all think I should do next? A little Trollish Layer I'm thinking) but y'all know how I am with promises.

People really liked Aradia last chapter. Especially her hair. It was just a joke, but now it's canon I guess, since I made reference to it again. Huh.

I only realized while I was writing the previous chapter that the statues and things in Dragon Roost Cavern are probably supposed to be Gorons (d'oh!) a fact that I'm sure would fascinate Aradia to no end. She seems a bit more prominent than the other two in this chapter, but that's because she knows the dungeon well; it only stands to reason. Also she was probably the second character whose role I'd decided way back in the planning stages.

You've of course noticed that I changed the dungeon layout. Otherwise, it would be the kids running back and forth while Roxy has brain-blasts and Aradia wonders who reset these thousand year-old traps and John grows incredibly bored of smashing chuchus and everyone wonders how they're getting so close to lava without exploding.


	10. God of the Forge

John fell to the floor, breathless and clutching at his side from the run. Not so hard to imagine when lugging about thirty pounds of equipment up a collapsing stairway in increasingly thin air after having sweat out half the water in his body inside a volcano, but not entirely heroic either. Once he'd collected himself, he sat up, and looked around—

"LOOK DOWN!" cried a shrill voice. "DON'T LOOK HIM IN THE EYES!" John obeyed immediately, and his ears were filled with that glorious trumpet-blast of a roar. He'd noticed it was musical on the way up, now he realized it was beautiful. A bright light filled his vision, leaving him dazzled even through his eyelids. There was something else going on in the background. Harp music. "Come closer you three," the voice repeated, "crawl along until you feel shade."

"Why can't we look?" asked Roxy.

"You'll go blind like me," John could swear the voice was smiling evilly. "If you want to do that, go on ahead."

The children crawled towards the music. It was a jaunty tune, for a harp. Something you could dance to. The brilliant light was suddenly not there and it felt just a smidge cooler. John opened his eyes and saw a troll in a wooden cage set deep inside a cave. He had the sudden realization that they were directly underneath Pyralsprite.

The troll was in her twenties and her teeth may have been even sharper than the Empress's. She was holding a lyre made of gold and red wood, with a soundbox shaped like a highly stylized face. The wooden arms came out of the top of its head, and made it look like a troll's horns. The lyrist herself might also have been pretty, under the teal scab covering the bottom half of her face that had spread from a pair of now completely lifeless eyes. "Sorry I couldn't get my makeup on," she said mockingly, "but I've had to keep Pyralsprite calm all these past days."

"Call this calm?" asked Roxy, voice dripping with sarcasm so thick John was surprised that it didn't collect in a pool at her feet. "Is this one of those 'cultural' things, like how you guys use 'love' and 'pity' interchangeably? Because that's wrong too."

She cackled. "Has he left the mountain? Wreaked a swath of fury and destruction across the Great Sea? Caused a second cataclysm? _Your welcome_." She winked, and a flake of teal crumbed off and fell to the floor. All the while her fingers danced across the strings and played their jaunty tune. "And Karkat's the only one who talks like that anymore."

"Teacher!" Aradia shouted, rushing up to the cage and clasping the bars. "You are alive! I knew it!"

The other troll snorted. "Of course I'm alive."

"Guys," Aradia said excitedly, turning back to the Hylians, "this is Terezi Pyrope. She's Pyralsprite's Handmaid and my instructor. Karkat wants to pail with her." Roxy snorted. John wasn't sure what that meant but it sounded dirty, so he dutifully turned red for the sake of argument.

"Hey," she said with a nod, leaning back in her seat, "bastards tore my wings off and made me look Pyralsprite in the eyes. He didn't like that. They thought he was just a dumb animal but I've been with him since before I pupated, so He ate them and locked me up in this cage, for my own protection of course. And because He doesn't want me to leave." Terezi stopped playing for an instant and the great voice of the dragon became trembling and quiet. She pointed down to the floor. "Something down there is hurting poor dear Pyralsprite," said Terezi, lips pursed as in concern for a loved one. John was shocked to hear this gargantuan deific monster whose voice cracked stone and whose mere gaze could apparently make your eyeballs explode out of their sockets referred to as a 'poor dear,' but even more shocked to find out that something could actually hurt it.

"He's in terrible pain," she went on despite John's minor panic attack, "He could just leave, but if He does the thing will get out. He can't kill it Himself either, something about ancient contracts—"

'Wait," said Roxy, "he talks?" She cleared her throat. "_H_e I mean?"

'Sure," Terezi drawled as if it were unimportant. "Dragon language. I've been taught to speak it since I was a wiggler, and I've been doing the same for Aradia."

"We can't make the sounds with our mouths though," said Aradia, "we need instruments!"

"This is weird," John said, ears drooping. No one paid him any mind.

"So could you all be dears," said Terezi, resuming her song; Pyralsprite's roar changed tone, and it almost sounded like contented purring; the troll reclined on her cot, an earthen ledge cut into the cell-wall, splaying herself out dramatically and showing off her new-looking red boots, "and go down there and kill the thing for me?"

"Okay!" Aradia said, nodding enthusiastically, wooly curls bouncing.

"Umm," John said, tugging on her sleeve. "Aradia, maybe we should go to the Empress, huh? Tell her what's going on, get a whole fucking army to go take care of the thing that's _hurting a god_?"

Terezi leaned forward, smirking. Her unseeing eyes focused on John, then on Roxy, then, longest of all, on Aradia. "I think you can handle it," she said. "In fact I'd do it myself but, well, 'locked in a cage, need to keep Pyralsprite calm, it's actually pretty comfy in here', all that sort of thing, you understand."

"Okay," John said, nodding more to assure himself than for the benefit of the blind troll. "But we'll need another way in. The stairs collapsed on our way—"

A look of feigned shock spread across Terezi's face. "Aradia you took the _stairs_? Like a Karkat? For _shame_!" Aradia however just laughed at the abuse. "Most people climb up the back way," Terezi explained. "It's faster but much more likely to get you killed. I guess it's the only way up now," she said, licking her lips. Terezi sniffed in a considering manner. "Hey, your human male is pretty attractive. Make sure to tease him extra hard for me."

"Please don't," he said, just as both girls responded with a resounding 'okay!' Terezi cackled as John groaned. "Here, take this," she said, producing a heavy golden key. It was decorated with a red and purple enameled eye and a pair of stylized horns, and the teeth were curved and narrowed to a point, like the teeth of an animal. It was longer than John's hand and probably weighed two pounds. The big key was a good compliment to the silver key they'd already collected. "They put a lock on the door to the sill to keep anyone from killing it. Give me that other one," Terezi said snappishly. "It goes to my cell. I'm sure I'll want to leave _eventually_."

"How can you tell?" John asked, eyebrow raised quizzically.

Aradia gasped. "There's a monster in the forge?"

"Sure," said Terezi, as if she were saying that the sky was blue. "The god of it, in fact. The thing your precious stone-men were worshipping, at least by the end of their time here."

"But how do you know that?" she asked.

"Pyralsprite's got a lot of stories," she said with a dismissive gesture. "The Bokoblins locked the door to protect themselves as much as to hurt Pyralsprite. Now go! Go! I need to keep playing before he takes the mountain down." And with that she struck her fingers against all the strings at once, creating a cacophony of sound like chocolate gold. The children said their goodbyes and left her cave, stepping into Pyralsprite's blinding light.

The great dragon roared, the sound shaking the children to their very bones, and started pounding with his mighty claws again. The sound almost masked the heavy, solid flapping of a trio of kargarocs flying in out of the sun. Each carried a monster in its claws; two deep green Bokoblins, wielding fine cutlasses and decked in chainmail, and a hulking brute of a Moblin, easily half as big again as the ones John had seen at the Forsaken Fortress.

The three monsters were dumped onto the ground in front of the party and John sighed, drawing his hammer and shield. Aradia cracked her whip warningly. Roxy yawned and drew a pair of her knives. "These guys look stronger than normal," John warned.

"Sure," said Roxy, "but we've been outnumbering the poor things all dungeon. It's finally a fair fight," she winked a big pink eye.

John chuckled. "When you put it that way," he said, grinning evilly at the Moblin. "I'll be a gentleman and fight the big one." Terezi's cackling was carried on the raging wind. She struck up a tune that was at once melancholy and adventurous. The winds seemed to join in, zephyrs acting as accompaniment, with Pyralsprite's trumpeting roar providing the percussion.

The Moblin bellowed and charged at John. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Roxy loose her knives and heard the crack of the whip; then he was running at the monster, easily twice his size, and completely unafraid. Was he trying to show off? Who knew? Who cared? The Moblin took a swing with its massive spear, raking the ground in front of John, kicking up a cloud of dust, but the heavy blade caught for just an instant and John snapped it off with a single blow.

Grunting in surprise, the monster backpedalled and jabbed at John's chest with the jagged end of the broken spear, but John smacked it out of the way with his shield. He had yet to break his stride and completed his run with a leap, delivering a vicious overhand swing to the Moblin's head. Its eyes rolled back and its teeth cracked, but surprisingly enough the monster stayed on his feet.

Even more surprisingly, it had enough coherency left over to punch John almost all the way back to the cave-mouth and run away. Terezi laughed at him. Although John was seeing stars, he could tell she was also pointing dramatically, as the music had stopped.

* * *

Iron chainmail is all well and good for stopping things weaker than iron. A bullwhip made of steel cable is not one of those things; it shredded like tissue beneath Aradia's first strike, leaving the Bokoblin defenseless and his leopard-print undergarments exposed to the air. Aradia stuck her tongue out and gagged. He bowed his head in shame. She advanced, cracking her whip as if driving cattle, or so she'd heard, trying to push the Bokoblin away from her friends without hurting it too much. It tried to deflect the blows with its cutlass, but his heart wasn't in it, embarrassed as he was, and sustained a lot of angry violet cuts and welts before deciding to run for it.

Aradia smiled victoriously. One enemy, at least, had been taught a lesson about messing with her without having to meet an unseemly end. He would warn others, and diplomacy would at the very least be considered. Truly, this was the start of—

John's Moblin, looking at least twenty percent lumpier about the face, staggered up to her Bokoblin and laid it flat with a meaty fist. A strangled cry was followed by an ugly, cartilaginous scraping sound as it hit the floor, neck looking distended and crooked. Aradia felt the spirit leave the body. The Moblin picked up the Bokoblin's cutlass, the huge blade looking like a knife in the green-furred ham it called a hand, and bellowed. Aradia bared her teeth at it and growled, an ugly pressure building up in her left temple. She lifted up her whip and sent its silver yards streaking at the ogre's arm.

Her aim was off by a just little thanks to the anger, and the whip wrapped around the monster's arm instead of cutting like she'd wanted. It grabbed a handful of the length and yanked her off her feet, twisting her around and dragging her along the ground by her back, scraping her sensitive wings. She cried out as she wondered if she'd ever be able to properly fly.

The Moblin bellowed yet again once he had Aradia in front of him, raising his stolen cutlass, when another shadow passed in front of the sun, not black but dark blue. It landed lightly on his shoulders, and buried five knives in his skull, one right after another, and slit his throat, dragging at the Moblin's head to direct the fall away from Aradia. Roxy rode it down to the ground like clinging to a falling tree.

* * *

"Did you know that taking a throwing knife to the knee is a Windfall euphemism for getting married?" asked Roxy as her Bokoblin rolled around on the ground agony, clutching at length of steel currently buried in its knee. The first two knives had bounced off its chest. Pretty stupid, Rox, she berated herself, looking at one of the recovered blades, which had snapped in half. "Quit your wining," she snapped, throwing another knife at its face with an authoritative gesture. It twitched and lay still. "You don't have to replace any valuable equipment. Okay, I got it cheap by flirting with the merchant, but still."

Then she heard Rae-Rae cry out in pain. Roxy rolled up her sleeves. "Time to get my not-ninja skills rolling," she said, and jumped twenty feet into the air, her shadow splashing beneath her like a puddle of water.

A minute later, Aradia was beaming up at her, eyes gleaming. "That was amazing!"

Roxy scraped some viscous brown Moblin blood off herself. "_Nayru_, why's this so thick?" she said, black lips pulled back in a disgusted sneer. "It wasn't that hard," she said in a more friendly tone. "John already softened him up for me, literally," she snickered. "And I have _plenty_ of experience in cold-murdering these pig suckers. Um, pig_like_ suckers I mean. They probably don't…do naughty things to pigs why the hell am I still talking," she said, scowling. "I need a fucking drink," Roxy moaned, "and there's not a drop of booze anywhere—"

"I want to kiss you," Aradia announced. "Huh?" Roxy enquired.

The troll stood up and dusted herself off. "No!" Roxy exclaimed, beginning to panic, "we're supposed to make _John_ uncomfortable, that's what your sensei said and—" Aradia caught her friend in a crushing hug and stood up on her toes to give Roxy a chaste peck on the cheek.

Roxy's face burned. "Oh. Well, duh obviously that's what you meant," she said, looking at the smaller girl.

"Of course," said Aradia, big smile shrinking down slightly. "Wait. You think that just because I'm a troll I'm a crazy sexual deviant, don't you?"

"No," said Roxy slowly, somehow giving the word about four extra syllables.

"You do!" shouted Aradia. She stamped her foot. "I'm twelve! I'm too young for quadrants!"

A sharp whistle issued from the cave mouth. "Blue boy over here's dying of a concussion," Terezi called. "You _probably_ need him for something," she intoned, voice dripping with sarcasm. The two girls forgot what they were arguing about and forced several jars of raw chuchu jelly down John's throat.

He woke up, smacking his lips. "Cinnamon and…cheap honey?" he asked as Roxy pulled him to his feet. "Did I win," he asked, surveying the battlefield.

"Well, you got away with your life," said Roxy, with a big fake smile, "and the other guy is certainly dead too, so let's say yes."

"YOU GOT KNOCKED THE FUCK OUT KID!" Terezi shouted. John sighed.

* * *

There was a ladder down the back of the mountain, bolted to the stone with rusted irons. It was long and ancient, bleached white by the elements, wood long fossilized, or something like it. It felt like climbing bone, or so John imagined. Below them, the angry brown cloud raged, conjured up by Pyralsprite's wrath—or rather his pain. Once again, it seemed that John had somehow been contracted to slay a god. Well, at the end of the day, he was going to have to find the hero, and help him kill the gods' greatest enemy. This was the equivalent of 'baby steps'.

The climb was surprisingly uneventful. Descending through the cloud, it occasionally flashed with white and green sparks. The air inside was thick and hot and smelled of dust. It hurt the children's throats but they were through it soon enough, and safely on a ledge, wide enough for the three to walk side-by-side to a door some twenty yards ahead. "That'll take us to base camp 05," Aradia said. "Just be careful where you step."

The path was strewn with the bright blue bomb fruits, so ripe they were almost bursting with juice, looking as delicious as they were in fact deadly. "What is the point of these things?" John snapped. "What possible purpose would explosive fruit serve?"

Aradia shrugged. "I'm an archaeologist not a botanist."

"I don't know what either of those things are," John asserted. Ignoring him, the girls walked on down the path. And the mountain cracked.

The sound was like standing next to a canon and the force bounced the children up a whole foot, throwing back to the ground. Behind them, an enormous split appeared in the stone wall, as deep as a wound, and bleeding like one too. A geyser of molten lava shot out of the crack like the breath of a dragon, incinerating the lower reaches of the ladder before it subsided, the pressure in the sill equalizing. Bits of pale wood rained down from the upper reaches where the quake had broken the ladder as well; there was no going back.

More pressingly, and enormous boulder slid down the sheer faced, settling right on the path, not one inch away from the clutch of bomb fruit. John slapped his forehead. "This is stupid. Now what the hell are we going to do?"

Roxy rubbed her chin. "I think I can fix this," she said.

"Do you think we can roll the boulder off the ledge?" asked Aradia. "We'd have to step really carefully though."

"I know," said John, turning to Roxy, "You'll use your magic!"

"She should save it for the monster," Aradia argued.

"Better than trying really hard not to explode while we shift a ton of rock," John countered.

"Well maybe I could just fly you guys across," Aradia reasoned.

"Do you really think you should?" John asked. "Your wings have taken a bit of a beating…" as the two went back and forth, Roxy uttered a brief prayer, drew a dagger, and threw it at one of the bomb fruits.

Compared to the quake just now, the blast was miniscule. By its own standards however, it was a monster of an explosion that nearly burst the kids' eardrums and singed off Roxy's eyebrows. When the smoke cleared, and there was very little of it, bomb fruit being a very clean-burning substance, the boulder was gone. As was most of the path.

John wiped the dust off his glasses and shouted over the ringing in his ears. "Looks like you're flying us after all Aradia!"

"What?!" she shouted.

* * *

Within minutes, they were standing inside the demon's mouth. Ahead was a pool of magma stretch from one end to another, bridged by a narrow length of stone that was cherry red on the underside. Beyond that was a rocky outcropping, a mound of stone onto which stairs had been carved. At the top was an enormous door, held shut by an enormous lock. It was a golden globe shaped like a stylized, horned eye, binding a mass of golden chains together across the door.

As the kids approached the door, Aradia stopped them. "Let's use up the last of the medicine right now, to fight the monster to the best of our abilities."

"I think we should wait and see if anyone's fatally injured," said John. "We're not that badly off, except your wings."

"We might need my wings," said Aradia. "It'll be easier to fly in there too because of the updrafts."

Roxy wandered off for a second to examine the area. A few ancient potshards, a cookpot that was so hot she couldn't touch it, a skeleton of indeterminate race clutching a sword, rusted to ruddy powder. It also had a fine red leather belt with a brass buckle decorated with a black enameled eagle. Roxy snickered as she picked it up, the skeleton crumbling. It was too big for her but John could use it as a sword-belt, er, hammer-belt. It would look more heroic than just dangling it awkwardly from the hip like he did right now.

Right in front of her, the magma bubbled, and she jumped back to avoid being splattered by the molten drops. It took a second for the depression made by the bubble to subside. Another, bigger one appeared, but it did not burst. Instead, it crawled onto solid ground and Roxy jumped back, dropping the belt and drawing a blade.

The lava sloughed off the creature, revealing something like a centipede with stone armor. Its body was burning a bright cherry red with inner heat, igniting the air around it. It had enormous jaws, as long as swords, and a single gem-like eye, luminous blue sclera, neon-pink iris, and a slit pupil like a cat. It opened its jaws with a sound like pruning shears and Roxy readied a knife—

There was a bluish blur and John was standing between her and the monster, smashing his hammerhead into its eye with an expert thrust, smashing the organ in. it shattered instead of bursting, spraying out crystalline shards; the jaws spasmed, almost slicing John before hanging limply as the body collapsed in on itself, inner fire beginning to cool.

"Okay," said Roxy, putting her hand on John's shoulder, "I think I may actually swoon this time, no shit."

He laughed nervously. "I've got to be good for something, right?"

"Ooh, a magtail," said Aradia, approaching. She had a finger near her mouth, a sign Roxy was beginning to associate with deep contemplation. "We should come back later to examine the remains," she said. "There might be some useful parts."

"Ew," said Roxy, cringing.

"Oh, these things are mechanical," Aradia assured the Hylians. "We won't be rummaging around in his guts or anything."

John looked at it, kicking the stony carapace, a sizzling sound escaping his sandal. "Really?"

Aradia nodded. "That glow is from their power source, it keeps their gears spinning and turning forever. Look, it doesn't even have a mouth; they're just the guards of whatever it is that lives in the forge." She stepped closer, squinting hard. "But the other ones I've seen are way older. They have nicks and cuts all over the shells and missing bits and their eyes aren't nearly as bright, and when they move there's all this clicking and whirring and screeching. This one must be brand new."

She straightened up. "It's making more," she said.

Without further ado, John handed Aradia the big key. She spread her wings, visibly scraped and scratched from being dragged along the ground; they seemed to tremble for a second before she caught an updraft and flew up to the lock, inserting the key as if she were driving a knife into the eye of a monster. With a twist, the lock groaned and fell to the floor, the chains binding the door hanging limp.

She drifted down, and John asked her to produce the rest of the medicine. "I'm fine," he said, "but you two are looking a little worse for wear." He smeared some across Aradia's wings, a process she found incredibly awkward, but bore it in appreciation of the soothing medication. He then moved on to Roxy. "I could make so many jokes right now," she said, as he spread the red slime onto her face, singed from the explosion earlier, "but I'm not going to. Yet. I'm gonna compose a list and read them all aloud once we're off this island." John smiled.

"One last thing," she said, handing him the belt. "You'll look more heroic with this around your chest," she explained.

"Thank you," he said, accepting the present. He secured the sword-belt, hanging his hammer and shield on it experimentally before taking them down and arming himself once again. "No more playing around," he said. "Let's do this." He walked up to the door and kicked it like he'd seen Aradia do. It slid up smoothly as all the others.

If he thought it had been hot before, he'd been a fool. The forge was a hell on earth. A ring of stone surrounded a perfectly circular pool of glowing magma, golden red, igniting near-transparent cherry flames in the air just above it.

Then, without ceremony, it surged upward, a plume of fire reaching up to the high ceiling (Pyralsprite's roar of pain was heard through the stone), bursting to reveal the god of the forge. He was an enormous black figure, a grim giant wreathed in fire, with two eyes like enormous glowing coals and a hammer the size of a house in his hand. It was crafted from enormous gemstones, the striking head a single huge ruby, and clockwork gears of such fineness they couldn't have been made by mortal hands, thin as spider webs and a thousand times more intricate. The door shut itself behind them. John produced the pictobox and snapped a pictograph.

"Hephaestus," he read aloud, "god of the forge. The _Hylian Edda_ describes him as the smith of the gods; the middle section of book I describes his forging of time itself on his work bench. Hephaestus Minions are mechanical centipedes colloquially known as _magtails_; like all Minions they share their master's face. His hammer, Fear No Anvil, is also the most precise clock known to exist, keeping time with the very concept of time itself. Hephaestus' glowing red eyes are in fact part of his protective coloration."

John was surprised at the much more lush description. He'd been hoping for something briefer and more importantly, something that actually told him what to do. He didn't have to dwell on these thoughts long however, as Hephaestus ponderously raised his hammer and brought the thing crashing down. John only survived due to being pushed out of the way by Roxy. "Pay more attention Johnny," she snapped. "Nothing that big and slow should ever get in a sucker punch like that!"

She stood up and unleashed a flurry of daggers. They struck with a high pitched hissing sound like water thrown onto a hot pan, leaving spots of brilliant liquid. Roxy almost smirked, until she realized that her daggers had merely melted instantly into liquid upon touching the giant. He moaned, a sound like an angry whale that the children could feel in their teeth, and raised his hammer once again, swinging the thing in a violent red crescent along the ground.

This entire time Aradia had been watching the creature in awe, but at the sight of the approaching ruby wall, reflecting her own face back at her, she screamed, hooked her arms under John's shoulders, and launched herself up into the air, narrowly avoiding the hammer.

"Shit!" John shouted. "Roxy! Holy crap she's dead!" he struggled to get out of the troll's grasp.

"You will be too," she snapped, "if you keep squirming around—" she was cut off by another swing of the massive hammer, this one vertical. The wake of its passing unbalanced her and sent them both tumbling to the ground, knocking the air out of them. Hephaestus turned his head as if looking for them, though his eyes didn't seem to move at all. "Ow," Aradia muttered angrily, "you make it hard to like you John," she said.

"It's not my fault," he snapped, or rather began to snap. Hephaestus was now focusing on them and raising his glorious weapon for another blow. "Hey, giant flaming fuckass!" a voice called from the other side of the room. The god's head snapped to the side and three more splatters of liquid metal appeared on his face as Roxy, entirely unharmed, hurled another barrage of daggers.

"We thought you were dead!" John shouted excitedly.

"Nope!" she said with a wink. 'Shadow magic is just the tits you guys."

* * *

By scattering, the kids found, they could easily avoid his ponderous blows. He wasn't trained to fight like John had been and was merely practicing his smith craft on the miniscule interlopers. At the moment, John was conferring with Roxy, trying to keep the creature distracted while Aradia devised an aerial attack. The hammerhead bounced off a dome of shadows with a metallic sound. "Read me the picture," she said, struggling to maintain the barrier. Another blow caused it to temporarily separate into a hundred colored squares before reforming. "What the fuck is Rae-Rae doing?" she muttered.

"Smith of the gods," John quoted.

"Uh-huh," said Roxy, reeling from a third blow.

"Time itself," said John, starting to hurry.

"Oh god my nose is bleeding!"

Minions share their master's face—"

"_No they don't!_ Not at _all_!"

"Protective coloration—"

Roxy growled and turned to snap at join, spraying a little fleck of blood onto his face. "Who writes this sh—"

It suddenly hit her. "Those things aren't his eyes!" she said, pointing.

John raised his head as if to nod but didn't lower it so as not to seem like he was agreeing to anything. Roxy sighed. "Thank Nayru for that ass," she muttered. Whispering in John's ear, she explained. "He can't see us! He only attacks when he hears a sound, which is why he isn't looking for Aradia."

John gasped. "So we should be really quiet!" The barrier fizzled and sparked under this last blow and disappeared.

* * *

Aradia had built base camp 05 near the top of the sill where some fascinating cave paintings depicted an incredibly complex pattern of spider webs, bringing up planks of bleached-white wood from the structures outside the mountain to create a crude scaffolding, as well as some strange seeds and a jug of water. That had happened about a year ago; surprisingly the water was still there, in a different form.

Some kind of bacteria that could survive at these temperatures had turned into a spongy green mold in and around the water jug, and had given rise to a tiny ecosystem of insects such as hardhat beetles and lanay ants, and amazingly enough, the seeds she'd brought in and forgotten about had sprouted. They were bomb fruits.

She spent about fifteen minutes examining the miraculous oasis of life and shedding a joyous tear over the beauties of science, and then another five trying to pick the fruit without setting it off. This proved…fruitless. She snickered at her joke, then took a running leap off the scaffold, diving towards her friends who appeared to be reeling in horror at Hephaestus' next blow. She'd rescued John last time, so this time she picked up Roxy, grabbing her around the waist and veering upward, flying faster than she ever had, almost as fast as Karkat with his mutant wings, so the pressure around her face stopped her from breathing for one awful, exhilarating second.

Roxy gawked at her, pink eyes huge. "My fuckin' hero!" she declared, throwing her arms up and herself off balance so she let out a yelp and almost fell. Then she kissed Aradia on the cheek. The troll snickered as she alit on base camp five. The wood creaked under the extra weight.

"Why didn't you attack though?" asked Roxy, folding her arms in a poor impression of sternness. "We talked about this."

Aradia showed her the bombs and explained. "So," she said, "Do you think you can magic at them, make some magic happen, do a magical thing with magic?"

Roxy sniffed up a drop of blood, cringing slightly. "I am going to have such a migraine tomorrow," she muttered as she sat down in a lotus position.

* * *

John laid on the ground, perfectly still, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. He wondered how good Hephaestus' hearing was. It definitely hadn't been able to find him, just as Roxy had said. She'd figured it out so quickly; what the hell was wrong with him? It seemed as if John was going to be the least helpful person on his own quest. Sure he had the Breath Waker, but that wouldn't be any help here. Maybe it could summon hurricanes and shatter forests and whatever else the voice had told him, but he didn't know _how_ to use it. He sighed.

Hephaestus' head turned. Oh shit. John was damn near exhausted from running around in this heat. The wakes from the hammer blows scalded his skin, and the impacts sent out a rain of hot shrapnel in every direction. A direct hit would leave him as a greasy smear on the forge floor, but fighting like this was death by a thousand cuts. He didn't know if he could dodge again—

A multitude of multicolored squares appeared in the air above Hephaestus, combining into shape with the strangest sound John had ever heard, like some combination of an unoiled machine, chirping crickets, and alien music. Hephaestus looked up; the squares had become a swirling black vortex and out of it tumbled a mass of wood and stone, with a cluster of bomb rocks growing out of it. They hit him square in the face.

The god of the forge roared in pain, clutching at his face with one hand, scraping off bits of refuse and what must have been burnt flesh. John saw a piece of something glowing cherry red fall into the magma. That's right, he thought, protective coloration—

The words stopped when John saw what was underneath; Hephaestus' true face. It was an enormous eye taking up half the smith god's head, with a glowing turquoise sclera, its iris a violet starburst with a violently pink core and a slit pupil. It was the eye of that magtail creature in flesh instead of stone and metal, beautiful and hideous at once. John remembered this was the same class of creature as Abraxas.

The huge head and eye swiveled with unnerving speed, up towards a small platform where the girls were standing, jumping up and down victoriously. The eye began to glow gold. John did the only thing he could do. He shouted.

Unused to using his eye, or perhaps just startled by the sound, Hephaestus' eyeball swiveled towards John at the last second, firing a rapid-fire burst of white-holt bolts of light, exploding against the stone walls and making the mountain quake as if make its way from where the girls had been over to John himself. John had been wrong. He still had some running left in him.

* * *

The explosion shook the shoddy, damaged scaffold off its supports and the girls tumbled to the ground. Aradia's wing was bent and crooked, and she bit down on her tongue to keep from screaming at the pain in the sensitive magical tissues. Roxy was lying prone on the ground next to her. Panic rising in her throat, Aradia raised a shaking hand to her new friend's throat and fumbled around for her pulse. It was there, faint, but present. She laughed a quivering snicker of relief. Her attendants were standing all around her, staring with cold white eyes, those that had eyes of course. But she couldn't stop laughing. There was something else rising pounding against her temple, welling up, ready to burst. It was heady and intoxicating and made her want to laugh more, but it was getting harder to breathe now. Her mouth was still smiling but her eyes were terrified. Oh no. Could it be…the blood rage? She thought she didn't have it, the lower bloods almost never have it, but maybe….

She watched John run. He was getting close. The forge was a circle, after all. Soon he'd be there and those flaming bolts would follow. Could Aradia run now, with Roxy unconscious and herself hurt? John solved that problem for her. He stopped in his tracks, raised his shield, and was enveloped in flame. Aradia's mind spilled over and she stopped laughing.

* * *

John wasn't about to lead that thing back to the girls that was for sure. He threw down his hammer and raised his shield with both hands, kissing the edge before raising it in front of him like a holy relic. The bolt of light exploded against the shield. The heat was intense, the sound overwhelming, the light dazzling. The shield held, ringing like a bell and humming like a hummingbird's heart, but it held. The enamel wasn't even scratched. John laughed, lowering the shield and thanking every god he knew of, asking them to bless his Nana and whatever wonderful, clever, magical ancestor had built this shield, forgetting the no-longer-blind evil god trying to burn him to death for a moment. Which was just as well, as he was no longer in immediate danger.

With a gasp, he noticed Aradia staring down the creature, floating a foot above the floor despite her right wing being bent into a horrible shape. "Look out!" he shouted, too late. Hephaestus fired off another burst, and Aradia didn't even try to run. The bolts of light hung in midair, crackling and sparking, a burning chain linking her to the god.

Her eyes flashed every conceivable combination of colors without rhyme or reason and curls of energy rose up from her hands, red on the left and blue on the right, long wooly hair spreading out behind her like an angry black cloud. With a wave of her red hand they went flying back to their sender, blasting enormous holes in Hephaestus' black carapace. He roared in agony, attempting to submerge. A scrim of purple light surrounded him, and he rose up instead. The mountain shook. Spires of stone tore themselves from the wall, impaling the deity through the gaping cracks in his armor. Out spilled glowing white fluid, like liquid light. With a weak hum like a dying whale, he struggled weakly as the purple aura split off into read and blue, the blue taking away his mighty hammer. It exploded into its constituent parts, hanging in the air for a second before flying into the god's body. The moaning cut off. Hephastus was dead.

The mountain didn't stop trembling. More and more hunks of stone ripped themselves out of the walls and hung in the air like balloons. The magma in the pool churned and bubbled like a stormy sea. Pyralsprite could be heard; he was _livid_. John imagined the great beast as if he were a frightened animal, whites of his eyes visible all the way around. It was not a pretty image.

Aradia was doing this somehow. He had to stop her. But how? He trudged towards her, the air becoming thick with power as he approached the troll, and harder to walk through until it felt like drowning in mud. She hadn't noticed him yet; he produced the Breath Waker and conducted the same song as before, commanding the air to _make a path_. He took in a deep breath of air and proceeded.

Aradia noticed him, or at least she turned her head towards him. Who knew what she saw with those lights in her eyes? She was so expressionless, she might have been dead. What to do?

Hands trembling, he threw down the Breath Waker. It could be seen as a weapon, couldn't it? He didn't want her to think he meant any harm. "Can you hear me?" He asked. She said nothing. The mountain raged. He approached. They were one yard away, one foot way, closer, closer still. John put his arms around her neck and pulled her down to him.

* * *

Author's note: when I said 'tease John with everybody,' I meant 'tease everybody with everybody but _especially_ John'. I fully expect a slew of John/Roxy, John/Aradia, and Aradia/Roxy smut set in this universe to pop up. _Now_.

Hephaestus is nothing like the actual boss in this area, sorry. Especially to the guy who really wanted Dave to be snapping these ironic pics. Funnily enough no one has asked me whether Dave was still alive even though I never provided any information as to his whereabouts. I suppose, what with him being the Hero of Time and all, that this is to be expected. I mean come on; I can't pull any suspense out of _that_. We all know how this is going to end, Dave being all legendarily heroic and shit, John having paved the way like Jaspers said. It's the journey that matters, man.

fanfic dot netters; the Ao3 version of this chapter has music. Why wouldn't it? It's the internet age and this is a Homestuck fanfic.

I know that none of those songs involved a harp shut up you get the idea.

Fuck, this chapter was supposed to be short….


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